~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for clicking on my story! This is my first (big) piece of writing that i've ever done, so feedback is welcome. First things first, I am so sorry about the lack of indenting on each paragraph. I have tried everything, spaces, tabs, shift... nothing works. I even contacted the website managers but they never got back with me, so unfortunately we will all have to deal with this hunk of text mess. My apologies. On another note, please excuse my grammatical mistakes for the first handful of chapters, as I started this in one big splurge, but I promise i'm getting better as I go, so stick with me. This is going to (hopefully) be a large project that I might split into thirds, going over the main questline and the Dawnguard and DragonBorn DLC's.
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Fire surged around her, engulfing everything in sight, yet she felt a chill deep in her bones. Flames like wild animals leapt up in flurries and sparks, landing on her body. She sank down into her nest of heat, welcoming it, yearning for it.
It still wasn't enough.
She jerked awake, instantly flooded in a wave of pain. Dimly, she registered the rope binding her hands, and the uncomfortable rocking of the cart on uneven terrain. Sunlight flashed across her eyes, making her wince. How long had she been unconscious? Her thoughts were as hazy as the mid morning light.
"Hey you, you're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there." The rich, lilting voice belong to a large man with blond hair and crystalline blue eyes.
"Damn you Stormcloaks... Skyrim was fine until you came along! Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you I'd have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." This man was scrawny, with dull brown hair and filthy skin covered in tattered rags. He turned his rheumy, blood shot eyes to her.
"You there, you and me, we shouldn't be here, it's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." She didn't bother to reply, still trying to sort out her muddled thoughts.
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now thief." Stated the Nord.
The driver shouted at them to shut up. The harsh volume of his voice made her head swim.
The thief turned his nervous eyes to her right, "What's wrong with him, huh?" He was looking at another blond nord that she hadn't noticed before. He was dressed in finer clothes than the other prisoners, and a gag covered his mouth.
"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" Retorted the big blond. She frowned. Her head was clearing now, and she fully understood the implications of being in the same prison cart as the "True High King".
She craned her neck, trying to observe the scenery around them. All around her were towering Pine trees, still heavy with winter snow, surrounded by mountains clawing towards the heavens. Skyrim.
She could hear the thief begin to fervently pray to his gods. She wanted to punch him. Couldn't he have a mental breakdown more quietly?
Stern, militaristic cries rang out around the keep, Legates and Commanders calling their troops to order as the headsman was prepared at the chopping block.
She tried to remain stoic. She didn't want to die, not by a long shot, yet there were worse ways of dying. However she planned to go down fighting. She was not raised to be some meager sheep led to the slaughter. Even if she died today, she would find someway to take someone out with her. That she swore, for who were they to bind and leash her? What crime had she committed? She hadn't even been trying to cross the border. Or at least not in theory. All she recalled was tripping through the brush, running from something. Guards perhaps?
The cart rolled to a stop, pulling her out of her reverie."Why are we stopping?" The thief cried.
"What do you think?" Replied the Nord soldier. "End of the line. Let's go, we shouldn't keep the gods waiting."
"No wait, we're not rebels!" He desperately pleaded.
"Face your death with some courage, thief." She couldn't help but agree with the Soldier as her bare feet touched the rocky dirt beneath her. Death is death, as sure as the sky's the sky. It is not something you can run or hide from, it is just another stage in everyone's life. What's the point in crying about the inevitable? The thief continued to moan, repeating his claim to innocence. The Nord mumbled about the lists.
"Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm." The gagged noble stepped forward quietly. The Nord solemnly called his regards to the retreating man. "Ralof of Riverwood." The Blond man, Ralof, stepped away from her. "Lokir of Rorikstead."
Lokir's watery eyes darted back and forth, like an animal caged, before letting out a cry. "No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" The fool started to run as the captain shouted out. He gave out a mad, gaspy laugh, "You're not gonna kill me!" But his body hit the ground all the same, a muffled thud as three arrows found his back. She briefly wondered if weak men went to Sovngarde. The captain called her to the front as the man next to her checked his papers before looking at her.
"Who are you?"
"Madrigal." He waited, perhaps for a last name. The silence started to drag. "Just Madrigal." He nodded, looking confused.
"Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list." The Imperial woman looked her over with a sneer.
"Forget the list, she goes to the block."
Yes, she was going to kill this woman. The Nord who had first addressed her was looking at her with pity in his eyes. "I'm sorry, we'll make sure your remains are returned to Valenwood." Not likely.
She turned to follow after the woman leading her to death.
The first man had died with pride and a rebellious nonchalance that impressed her, yet he did nothing to stop the axe from coming down. A waste of certain death and spirit. At least now she got to steal the show.
"Next, the Wood Elf!" She shambled forward, wincing at her cuts and scrapes. The peasants of the town looked at her with solemn curiosity, wondering what crime she could have committed. She couldn't have answered their questions if she tried. Or cared. The officer raised her boot up to push her down, but her metal clad foot never touched the prisoner's back, probably because she wasn't there anymore.
Time slowed as she spun away from the Captain, wrapping her bound hands around the Headsman's neck, snapping it quickly. Before the Captain could raise her sword, she threw the Headsman onto her. Not a particularly graceful or powerful throw with her hands, bound as they were, but it got the job done. The Captain couldn't handle the weight of both her heavy metal armor and the sudden extra pounds added by the Headman's corpse. As the Captain staggered under the heavy load, Madrigal took advantage of the distraction as she leapt upon the foot soldiers standing next to her before they could react.
She was so caught in the current of battle that she didn't register the Dragon at first. Her world shook as she fell, turning dark as thunder clouds rolled in, dropping flaming boulders from the sky. Words chanted through her brain, echoing pure power and rage. She was gripped in a sudden fury. Who dare challenge her during her kill? The blood was hers today. Her furious golden eyes met livid red, and the sound seemed to cut out as blood roared in her ears. Words chanted in her skull, calling to her, echoes of something greater. She screamed her challenge to the massive ebony Dragon, but it was already flying away to pick off more weak mortals. This dismissal made her want to fly to this dragon and demand that he fight her, to see who was stronger. Someone grabbed her arm, pulling her out of her bloodlust.
Suddenly she was in a tower, and her senses came rushing back like flooding water. Ralof was lucky she hadn't killed him just for touching her while she was in her violent spell. What had happened to her? Ulfric and some of his Stormcloaks were there, the majority of which were lying injured on the ground. "Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?" Asked Ralof. "Legends don't burn down villages." She quickly undid her binds. Fools didn't even tie them behind her back.
As soon as her hands were free, she leapt up the stairs, not waiting for the tower to fall down around her. Suddenly, the chanting returned, she could physically feel the Dragon's large bulk winging towards the tower. She ducked down just as the wall exploded, sending shrapnel and debris flying, hitting the soldier who was standing on the now destroyed landing. The Dragon wheeled away, spewing fire from its maw as it went.
Looking out over the crumbling brick and mortar, she saw a small house, its thatch roof torn open, fire licking at the wooden sides. If she had god's, she would pray to them right now. She backed up, stepping as far away as she could before sprinting forward.
The gap was large, and if she didn't have her elven speed and agility, she would be lying on the burning ground with the charred logs. As she hit the smoking floorboards, the entire house seemed to creak and moan in protest. She started moving as fast as she could, the wooden slats burning her bare feet as she raced against the flames clawing at the vulnerable roof. After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the end of the house, not hesitating as she dropped through the smoldering hole in the floor. The sight that greeted her was much worse than the burning home behind her.
The sky stretched out in a black canvas, blanketing the world, as if trying to hide the slaughter from the gods. Everywhere, houses and shops were set aflame, wagons were upended, the charred bodies of man, mer, and horses alike were strewn about the sandy ground dark with blood. A shriek split the air as the Dragon landed in front of her. Once again she was seized with the unconquerable urge to fight, to challenge and conquer. The nord from before, the one with chestnut hair who had read the list, yanked her backwards, out of the dragon fire that shot from the black demon's throat.
"Still alive prisoner? Keep with me if you want to stay that way!" She bridled at his tone. She could handle herself perfectly well… but an extra hand probably wouldn't hurt right now.
The Dragon spread its wings, pumping itself into the smoky air. As soon as it was gone, she dashed forward with the soldier, dodging meteors as they went. "Stick to the wall!" He cried right as the Dragon landed down onto the battlement above them, one leathery, scaled tarp of its wing slamming inches from her face. The Soldier was hiding under its impressive neck as it roasted another man alive.
With a mighty roar, the Dragon shot back into the sky, blinding them in a cloud of dust. They ran forward once more, scrambling through wooden pillars and a fireplace that used to be a home, emerging onto a small road that led to the keep which was still intact despite the hellscape around it.
She pumped her legs as hard as she could, not caring about the man has he ran to help someone else. She was keenly aware of every scream of every mortal tossed into the air or struck by fire. Their panicked cries filled her elven ears as that gods damned relentless chanting assaulted her once more. Not caring where she went, she slammed open the door to the first keep she came to, nearly falling into the cool darkness of the fort's interior.
She gasped, sucking down the clean air into her smoke filled lungs. Every damp, moldy spot on the wall was a blissful reprieve from the cruel reality of the outside world. She stumbled over to a dead Stormcloak in the corner. Abruptly, she shed his body of armor and single axe. Anything was better than nothing.
Another roar shook the keep. She had to keep moving and get out as fast as she could before the tower came down on her. The gate to her right was locked, and on her left there was closed blockade with a lever on the other side. Trapped.
Effectively, stupidly, frustratingly trapped. If she went outside, she would die, but if she waited for the Dragon to leave, she could very well starve to death or risk being caught underneath the collapsing keep. Perhaps she could try to slip through the locked gate? Not likely.
She heard footsteps approaching from down the hall, behind the blockade. Quickly, she hid in the shadows by the wall, hoping she could take them by surprise. The blockade slid open with a shudder as the Captain who sentenced her to the block and an unfamiliar foot soldiers marched into view. She knew that she was in bad shape, lack of food, water, and the hellish events of the last hour made sure of that. Plus, the Captain was in heavy armor with a sidekick to boot.
Madrigal weighed her options. She could sneak behind the foot soldier, slicing his throat then leaving her with better odds, but she was still weak, and that Captain's armor looked as thick as her forearm. Not to mention the axe could very well get stuck in the soldier's throat, leaving her weaponless.
Well, not entirely weaponless. She turned over her hands, summoning a flame in her palm. Unlike many Bosmer, she wasn't that bad with the arcane, in fact she usually fought with a bow from distance, but relied on magic or daggers up close. But to lose her only weapon? She would have to rely completely on her magicka reserves. So be it.
She stealthily crept up behind the soldier, and with a hefty slash, or hack really, plunged the blade into the soldier's neck. Like she had suspected, the axe became lodged. Not wasting any time lamenting over the loss, she jumped out of the way and began spewing hot flames at the Captain. She managed to hold up a steady stream, long enough to roast the Captain in her armor. When all that was left was a smoking mound of scorched flesh, Madrigal leaned back and sighed. Walking over to take the soldier's sword. She much proffered sharp blades to blunt meat cleavers, they worked better with her fast style of fighting. She huffed, frowning at the hunger that knotted in her belly. The faster she left, the better.
She had crawled through the depths of the dungeon for hours, encountering many soldiers, both Stormcloak and Imperial. Most were already killing each other, so she didn't have to help, but other times she came upon lone men and women who would charge her blindly. Soon she lost track of time, only feeling the gnawing hunger at her stomach, the scrape of her throat, and the ache in her bones. At one point she came across the torture chambers, a small cell in the corner held a corpse wearing mage robes with some spell books at his side. She snatched some lockpicks that were resting on a small table and picked the lock. She could sell the robes, but she donned the hood and stuffed the books as well as some stray septims and potions in the knapsack she had found. As she went deeper through the keep, the less people she saw. She was ready to give up and begin backtracking to the surface after having shot five different spiders with a newly acquired bow when she saw sunlight.
Real, genuine sunlight. A little beam of it shining through a hole in the roof of the cavern. The sight was so beautiful that she wanted to sit down and cry. She snuck past a sleeping bear before limping out through a slim crack in the wall, motes of dust swirling in her wake as she left Helgen behind her.