Not unlike many of the small towns about Skyrim, Rorikstead was yet another farming village, filled with nothing but farmers, who would beget farmers, and who would yet beget more farmers, and…
Erik was tired of it. Tired of the weeding, the plowing, the fertilizing, the planting, the waiting, the checking, the watering, and the harvesting, all for some leeks and a few potatoes. Was this the life he would lead? Yet another nameless Nord farmer, who would die having accomplished no more than the successful harvesting of vegetables? He didn't even live in a real town, by the Nine! No, Rorikstead was all of four buildings, with a population of eight, two of which were children. And there was no chance for Erik to wed, unless Britte or Sissel grew up anytime soon.
These were the complaints that ran through his mind daily as he crouched in the field, tending to the leeks, since his father, Mralki, ran Frostfruit Inn. Erik wished that his father would see that his spirit was slowly being crushed underneath the dirt and green stalks, surrounded by nothing but hills and bushes as far as the eye could see. At least he could still imagine. At least his father couldn't prevent him from following the stories of the heroes, especially the great Dragonborn.
How the Dragonborn must revel in his adventures! All in Rorikstead would gather in the inn when the travelers would arrive, bearing news of the great hero. Erik remembered when the news of Helgen had arrived – the farmers feared for their very lives! Dragons heralded the end of days, enough to make anyone quiver. But then, one warm Last Seed night, the quivering shout of "DOVAHKIIN" rang out across Skyrim, heard from Riften to Markarth, raising a thin flame of hope to the fearful people.
Dovahkiin! Dragonborn! The one to save us all! The people of Skyrim awaited with eager breath as the epic lived on. The Dragonborn learned the Way of the Voice from the Greybeards up on High Hrothgar, finally battling Alduin, World-Eater, on the Throat of the World. He went so far as to pursue the First Born of Akatosh, riding on the back of a fearsome dragon to enter Sovngarde. And then it was over. The Dragonborn returned with the bones of Alduin, which were turned into his distinctive armor. They say you can see him from time to time, riding across the hills as he slays dragons, draped in the bones of their own kind…
Erik had always hoped that the Dragonborn would one day ride by Rorikstead; he told himself that he could accept being a farmer, if he saw but one glimpse of the Dragonborn, his great idol. And one day, he got his wish.
He also got to see the inn's thatched roof catch on fire, as a great dragon blasted it with white hot fire.
It had been your typical Sundas of Morning Star, complete with farming and vegetables (as usual). The bronze dragon that emerged from the earth, however, was not so typical. The people of Rorikstead hurried inside, windows and doors shut against the flying monstrosity. However, Erik remained pressed to the window, watching from within as the hold's guards attempted to shoot at the dragon, their arrows bouncing harmlessly off its scales.
The bronze dragon set the roof of the Frostfruit Inn on fire. Erik watched with growing horror as it alighted on the flaming building, the fires licking at its claws. Some of the soldiers began to panic. Suddenly, this wasn't as amazing as before, and far more real.
A sound roared across the plains, but it wasn't the dragon. It lifted its head, and stretched out its neck, peering towards the sight of the sound. The sound repeated, deafening, and making the house shake. The dragon growled. The guards scampered about, trying to determine the source of the sound. Very few were still attacking the dragon with idiotic determinacy though their arrows did no harm.
"NAHAGLIIV!" the roaring bellowed, and a horse galloped into the center of town, its rider pulling at the reins to rear to a stop in front of the monster atop Frostfruit Inn. The guards cleared out of the way, staring at the rider in dumbfounded shock.
The dragon, Nahagliiv, peered at the rider as they dismounted. Erik strained his eyes to look closer, but he didn't have to look past the Dragonplate armor to know anymore.
"Dragonborn," he breathed.
"Dovahkiin," Nahagliiv growled.
"Drem Yol Luk, Nahagliiv," the Dragonborn replied. Erik could barely hear him through the glass.
"Why are you here, Dovahkiin?" Nahagliiv demanded, tail lashing.
"To stop you, dragon." The Dragonborn brandished a vile looking weapon, black as night and pulsing with red energy.
Nahagliiv made a rasping sound. Erik figured it was a laugh. "You are daanik, doomed, Dovahkiin."
The Dragonborn took a deep breath. "FO KRAH DIIN."
Erik watched, wide eyed, as the frost settled over the inn, putting out the fire quickly.
"Erik, away from the window," his father barked from behind him, but Erik paid him no heed, too enraptured by a sight he had only imagined in his wildest dreams.
The Dragonborn motioned with his sword. "Come down here and fight, coward!"
The dragon roared, its great maw opening wide. Erik was stunned at the sheer number of teeth, and their length. "Dir, Dovahkiin!"
Nahagliiv spread his wings, and arose from the roof, soaring to land with an earthshaking boom. The Dragonborn let out a war cry as he slashed at the nose of the monster, the blade slicing across its jaws. Red blood stained the front of the hero's armor, and the beast shouted. Flame licked across the Dragonborn, but he paid it no heed, hacking at his foe with great speed and strength.
Erik could never have imagined the techniques that the Dragonborn used, ducking and weaving to evade Nahagliiv's attacks, only to push a sword between its scales and draw blood. Nahagliiv grew weaker, and weaker, each swipe half hearted, the snapping of its jaws becoming a little less threatening.
Erik gaped as the Dragonborn slung himself atop the dragon's head, raising his sword to stab at the monster's face, blood gushing from each slash. He leapt off just as the dragon collapsed to the ground, dead.
The entire town sat in dead silence, the only sound being the whistle of the freezing wind. The guards watched the Dragonborn warily as he sauntered over to dragon and began to pick over its skeleton, pocketing the gold wedged between its scales.
With the sound of crackling, the flesh of the dragon began to burn brightly, and a rush of wind escorted the dragon's soul in the Dragonborn. He lifted his arms from off of his side for a fraction, embracing it as the energies rushed around him, and after a moment…it was over. He walked over to one of the guards and motioned to the Frostfruit Inn, pressing several large gold coins into the guard's hand. The guard nodded.
Erik threw open the door of the house he had occupied, and ran over to the Dragonborn, who was mounting his horse. Funny, the Dragonborn seemed…thinner, than he had imagined. And certainly not as burly.
Two blue eyes, like ice wraiths, stared out at him through the helmet of the Dragonborn's armor. A piece of dark fabric was wrapped across his nose and mouth underneath the helm.
"Dragonborn!" Erik greeted.
The hero looked startled. "Uh, yes," he said, with a strangely high pitched voice. He nodded once. "Goodbye." With that, he galloped right out of town and was gone in a flash, leaving the townspeople to deal with the dragon skeleton left behind, much to the grumbles of Lemkil.
And that was the first time Erik saw the Dragonborn. He kept a knucklebone of the great monster on a leather string underneath his shirt, after slowly carving a hole into it with a small knife. It was carried with him everywhere, and he wore it to his death.
But that was not the last time Erik saw the Dragonborn. This story begins about a year later, on Turdas, the 28th of Evening Star, 4E 204. So begins the new life of Erik the Slayer.