The Elder Scrolls: Tales of Skyrim and the Last Dragonborn
Summary:
This is the story of how an unlikely trio bound by fate, must work together to save the world. Arbjorn Ironwill was a Nord nomad who lost his family to the Thalmor. His quest for vengeance takes him to Skyrim where he meets Lyssandra Montclair, a Breton noble who seeks to find a cure for her vampiric curse, and Ja'ardir Shadowclaw, a Khajiit with a dark and mysterious past.
As the trio journey together, Arbjorn finds out that there is much more to his destiny than seeking vengeance for his family. He discovers his destiny as the Last Dragonborn.
PROLOGUE
(Morning of 17th Last Seed, Helgen)
Arbjorn Ironwill woke up with a splitting headache, his skull felt like it was pulverized by a raging Frost Troll. He winced as he tried to get his eyes to open despite the throbbing pain. By the Nine, he could barely even remember how he got here in the first place. He looked around and found himself in a wagon with three other people. Their hands were bound tight, one of them with his mouth gagged by a piece of cloth. They were surrounded by Imperial horsemen who accompanied the convoy across the treacherous, snowy path.
"Hey, you. You're finally awake." A blonde Nord with a short beard in blue leather armor sitting across him interrupted his thoughts. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."
"What's going on?" Arbjorn grumbled, shaking his head to clear out his somewhat blurry vision. The sound of the wooden cart's wheels rolling along the ground and the hooves of the horses pulling the wagon reached his ears.
Next to the blonde Nord sat a skinny brunette man in rags, whose face seemed to be overflowing with fear and agitation. Beside him sat a stern-looking Nord, the one whose mouth was gagged by a piece of cloth, donned in an expensive-looking black fur-trimmed cloak wearing a grim expression on his face. The man's gaze was intimidating enough, like an angry bear whose roar could send a man running away from his sight.
"Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along." the brunette Nord in rags piped up. "The Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell."
Stormcloaks? Arbjorn's face lit in recognition as he snapped out of disorientation. The name sounded familiar. He heard about an ongoing insurgency in Skyrim which sparked into a civil war between the Empire and its rebels. His father used to tell him bedtime stories about how this rebellion came to be, but now to think that he is actually caught up in the middle of it.
Arbjorn was simply minding his own business, trekking across the snowy landscapes and borders of Skyrim until he accidentally walked into what seems to be an Imperial ambush. Having been mistaken as a soldier of the Stormcloak rebellion, the Imperial soldiers attacked him, knocked him out and held him captive as a prisoner along with the other rebels.
"You there." the thief turned to him. "You and me — we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."
"We're all brothers in binds now, thief." the blonde Stormcloak snorted. "And you too, kinsman."
The Imperial soldier driving the wagon glanced over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the snow-paved road ahead. "Shut up back there!"
"And what's wrong with him?" the thief asked with disdain, referring to the gagged Nord.
"Watch your tongue!" the blonde Nord glared at the thief. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim."
"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion." the thief stared with his mouth agape. The look on his face turned from agitation and fear into a face of terror and panic as he realized what was about to happen. "But if they captured you — Oh gods, where are they taking us?!"
The blonde Stormcloak glanced at a distance ahead, with a solemn expression on his face. "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." he replied.
"N-No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening." the thief began to stammer in panic as he turned to Arbjorn. "You and me. We have to get away from here. We're not about to die branded as rebels."
Arbjorn hoisted himself and sat up straight to face the thief. "I don't think there's anything much we can do at this point. We are surrounded by Imperial soldiers."
Being on the same wagon with Stormcloak rebels surrounded by Imperial forces could only mean one thing and Arbjorn knew what was coming for them. They are about to be executed by the Empire's Legionnaires in the name of weeding out the roots of rebellion in Skyrim. Arbjorn had certain fears but death wasn't one of them. After all, death would only bring him closer to the doorsteps of Sovngarde, where he will forever feast with Ysgramor and the honorable warriors of Tamriel.
"The boy speaks wisdom." the blonde Stormcloak agreed. "Any attempt to escape would only hasten our death sentence."
"N-No. This can't be happening… I-I don't want to die! Not yet! I don't want to d-die this way!" the thief began shaking, his breaths becoming rapid and shallow.
The blonde Nord sighed. "What village are you from, horse thief?" he asked, attempting to take the thief's attention away from inevitable death.
"Wh-Why do you care?" the thief replied, unable to hide the scorn in his voice.
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." the blonde Stormcloak replied calmly, seemingly in peace with whatever might come for him soon.
"Rorikstead. I'm — I'm from Rorikstead." the thief answered.
"What about you, kinsman?" the blonde Nord turned towards Arbjorn. "Where do you hail from?"
"I've been everywhere. All over Tamriel." Arbjorn replied.
"So you're an adventurer, then? Travelling across Tamriel and seeking fortune?"
"I prefer the term 'nomad'." Arbjorn corrected the Stormcloak. "My life wasn't exactly a myriad of thrill-seeking and glory hunting. I lived with my family and we travelled everywhere."
"Ah, sounds adventurous enough to me." the blonde Stormcloak smiled, seemingly content with the answer.
The conversation came to a halt as the convoy was about to enter a fortified village. Troops of Imperial Legion soldiers were stationed on the towering stonewalls while some were guarding by the main gate. As they passed through the gate, a seemingly high-ranking Imperial Legion officer clad in a distinctive uniform trotted his steed towards his subordinates. The cold and crisp winter air of Skyrim matched the cold stares of the welcoming party of soldiers and onlookers as the convoy proceeded inside the village.
"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" one of the soldiers on the wall addressed the high-ranking Imperial officer.
"Good. Let's get this over with." the General replied, his face swelling with pride and victory.
The mention of a headsman confirmed an impending execution, inducing a panic attack on the thief once more. "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me!" he mumbled.
The blonde Stormcloak nudged at Arbjorn and pointed at the General who is now speaking to a High Elf in black robes.
"Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him." the blonde Nord spat in ill contempt. "Damn elves! I bet they had something to do with this."
The mention of the Thalmor began to boil Arbjorn's blood. The Thalmor are the governing council of the Aldmeri Dominion, a group of radical, nationalist High Elves advocating for racial supremacy over the various races of Tamriel. Born and raised a nomad, Arbjorn didn't care for the politics within Tamriel or who took which territory, but the Thalmor did not only take away the freedom of Skyrim's people but they took away the people he held dear. The damned Elves killed his family and that was enough reason for him to come to Skyrim and seek vengeance against the Thalmor.
Rigid with fury, Arbjorn clenched his fists and his face flushed. The sudden change in his expression did not escape the blonde Stormcloak's watchful eyes.
"Hey, kinsman. Are you alright?" the Stormcloak asked perceptively. Arbjorn snapped out of his building rage and his senses came back to reality.
"Those Thalmor bastards are here. Are the damned Elven overlords presiding over the execution?" Because if they are, then Arbjorn wasn't planning to go down the execution block without a fight.
"I'm not entirely sure with that. But they are somehow involved without a doubt." The Stormcloak replied and glanced back at the High Elf with disdain. "I can tell that you and I have something else in common besides being prisoners right now. Our burning hatred for the Thalmor runs strong."
"Where are we?" Arbjorn asked, dismissing the Stormcloak's comments as he looked around the village.
"This is Helgen." the Stormcloak replied as he began reminiscing the good times of the past. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." he mused for a moment. "Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."
The wagons finally reached their destination as the Imperial waggoneers signaled their horses stop.
"Why are we stopping?" the anxious thief asked.
"Why do you think? End of the line." the blonde Stormcloak replied. "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."
"No! Wait! We're not rebels!" screamed the thief. "This is a mistake!"
"Face your death with some courage, thief."
Just then, a heavily armored female Imperial Captain walked up in front of the crowd and towards the wagons.
"Get these prisoners out of the carts. Move it!" the Captain ordered from the sidelines.
Under the watchful eye of the Imperials, the prisoners started jumping out of their wagons. Of all the prisoners, the horse thief caused the most commotion. He repeatedly threw a fit and pleaded for innocence but to no avail. This earned him a couple of vexed stares from Imperial soldiers along with some Stormcloak rebels who spat at his cowardice.
"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!" the thief blurted out and cried, begging for the Stormcloaks to attest for his innocence.
The Captain was quick to dismiss the thief's pleads and carried on with the execution. "Step toward the block when we call your name. One at a time!" she ordered in a commanding presence.
Beside the Captain, an Imperial soldier stood with a list in his hand, his expression mildly stoic as he scanned through the names written on the piece of paper. However, his seemingly stoic expression faltered into a look of disappointment as he looked up from his list and made eye contact with the blonde Stormcloak. A hint of familiarity and recognition sparked in his eyes in the brief moment before he looked away and carried on with his duties.
"The Empire loves their damn lists." the blonde Stormcloak scoffed and spat.
"Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm." the Imperial soldier read the first name from the list.
The gagged Nord in black fur-coat stepped up from the crowd, giving off intense, intimidating glares at every Imperial and Thalmor he could lay his eyes on. Jarl Ulfric then made his way towards the chopping block with a muffled grunt, unable to utter a word due to the piece of cloth covering his mouth.
"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." the blonde Stormcloak muttered under his breath as the gagged leader of the Stormcloak rebellion walked past him.
"Ralof of Riverwood." the Imperial soldier called out the blonde Stormcloak's name from the list. The two men exchanged familiar glances once more and the Imperial's eyes were briefly riddled with a mixture of disappointment and sadness as Ralof walked without fear towards the block.
After regaining his composure, the Imperial soldier carried on reading the next name.
"Lokir of Rorikstead."
Hearing his name announced, the horse thief in rags attempted to plead for innocence once more, "No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"
Realizing that he could never convince the Legion to let him go no matter how hard he pleaded, the thief looked at Arbjorn for the last time, his eyes lost and face shrouded in terror. The thief bolted away from the block and made a run for it. The man's eyes glittered with hopelessness.
"Halt!" the Imperial Captain yelled after the thief but it didn't stop him.
Lokir kept running away despite the inevitability of his impending doom. "You're not going to kill me!" he screamed from a distance.
"Archers!" the Imperial Captain motioned for the archers on the walls to prepare themselves.
Once she gave the go signal, dozens of arrows were sent firing from the walls and a few pierced Lokir's chest from the back, hitting his vital organs. The horse thief's corpse tumbled on the ground, motionless and blood soaked. Lokir of Rorikstead has met his untimely end.
"Anyone else feel like running?" the Imperial Captain dared the captives.
A wave of silence followed immediately. Even the onlookers, who were shocked by the recent turn of events, did not dare to mutter a word in the presence of the Imperial Captain.
"Wait, you there. Step forward." the Imperial soldier commanded Arbjorn. He looked at the list, then back at the Nord. "Who are you?"
"Arbjorn Ironwill. A nomad of Tamriel." Arbjorn replied. "I'm not a rebel. Much like Lokir of Rorikstead over there, whose body now bathes in the pool of his own blood, I was just passing through the borders of Skyrim and got caught up in the Imperial ambush."
The Imperial soldier turned to his superior, uncertain of how to proceed.
"Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list."
"Forget the list." the Imperial Captain said dismissively. "He goes to the block."
"By your orders, captain." the soldier accepted the decision without any further questions, although his expression showed sincere regret and sympathy. "I'm sorry kinsman, but at least you'll die here in your homeland."
"Is there a problem?" General Tullius approached them and turned to the Captain.
"Nothing, sir. Just a prisoner whose name isn't on the list." the Captain replied.
"If my name isn't on the list, then doesn't that mean that I shouldn't be up for execution?" Arbjorn reasoned out. "I'm not a rebel nor a criminal."
"The list is simply a mere formality." the Captain explained callously. "The Law of Tamriel states that 'All are guilty until proven innocent'. As Legionnaires who have sworn loyalty to the Empire, our actions are guided by the laws set in place."
Arbjorn spat. "Law and loyalty to the Empire? Is it really the law that you fear? Or the Aldmeri Dominion overlords who control the Empire like a Thalmor puppet?"
His response was met with hushed whispers from the civilian onlookers and silence by a few Imperial soldiers. A few of the Thalmor who were present to watch the execution scowled at Arbjorn menacingly. The Stormcloak rebels on the other hand nodded at his words, seemingly prideful and pleased that a fellow Nord would stand up courageously against the oppressive Thalmor of the Aldmeri Dominion. General Tullius didn't expect such a bold statement to come from a captive prisoner, especially in the presence of a few Thalmor Justiciars amongst the crowd. The General held his hand up to silence the indistinct mumbles and whispers, regaining his composure in the process.
"That's enough, prisoner. The Legion is what's keeping the peace and order here in Skyrim. From where you stand, you are in no position to make such statements." General Tullius replied.
"Follow the Captain, prisoner." the Imperial soldier ordered him. Despite being a Legionnaire, the Imperial soldier gave Arbjorn a certain look of approval at his words. It seemed that not all Imperials are pleased with the Thalmor's occupation in Skyrim.
Without hesitance, Arbjorn proceeded to stand with the other waiting prisoners by the execution block. General Tullius walked over to the center of the block, where he stood in front of the rebellion leader and exchanged scowls.
"Ulfric Stormcloak." General Tullius began. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."
The gagged Jarl responded in muffled grunts. Had he not been gagged with a piece of cloth on his mouth, he could have easily used the power of the Voice to shout the Imperial Legionnaires and Thalmor Justiciars to pieces, just like he did High King Torryg.
"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!" General Tullius declared. His statement was met with varying responses. The Legionnaires and loyal supporters of the Empire applauded the General's words, while the Stormcloak rebels furrowed their brows in disdain.
Just then, a distant noise thundered across the mountain ranges. The rumbling sound echoed throughout Helgen, alarming a few citizens and soldiers. Arbjorn lifted his gaze up the sky and towards the towering peaks circling Helgen. A few days ago, he could've sworn he heard that exact same noise as he traversed the treacherous mountains close to Skyrim's borders.
"What was that?" the Imperial soldier with the list asked in confusion.
"It's nothing. Carry on." General Tullius commanded, ignoring the noise.
"Yes, General Tullius. Give them their last rites." the Imperial Captain nodded in affirmation as she ordered a Priestess of Arkay to commence the ritual in preparation for the prisoners' execution.
The priestess stepped forward and stood close to the block, holding her hands high in solemn prayer.
"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved —" Her prayer was interrupted by one of the Stormcloak rebels from the wagon, who seemed aggravated at how she renounced Talos and rejected him as the Ninth Divine. The Stormcloak rebel stepped forward and made his way to the center of the block, eager to meet his end and revel in the halls of Sovngarde.
"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with." the impatient rebel snapped.
"As you wish." the priestess rolled her eyes.
"Come on, I haven't got all morning." the rebel complained. The impatient rebel wasted no time and knelt before the chopping block. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" he mocked.
Without further delay, the headsman raised his hefty axe and swung downwards, chopping the Stormcloak rebel's head off the block. The beheading elicited a number of reactions from the crowd. A couple of loyal supporters of the Empire cheered while the rebel sympathizers lamented at the decapitation.
"As fearless in death, as he was in life." Ralof said solemnly.
"We will meet him again in Sovngarde." Arbjorn muttered, earning him a brief smile from the blonde Stormcloak.
Arbjorn took a deep breath and relaxed his tensed shoulders. He knew that he was next in line for the execution. He looked around and saw a glimpse of the other Stormcloaks, their faces mantled in despair as one of their comrades just had his head severed in front of them.
"Next, the nomad Nord in the rags!" the Imperial Captain pointed at him.
As the Arbjorn was about to take a step towards the block, another familiar roar rumbled out on the mountainside, this time much closer.
"There it is again. Did you hear that?" the puzzled Imperial soldier with the list paused.
"I said, next prisoner!" the Captain hissed in disdain.
"To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy." the Imperial soldier ordered Arbjorn.
Arbjorn slowly made his way towards the chopping block. The Nord nomad swept his gaze on his surroundings for the last time and looked daggers at the Thalmor Justiciars who were amongst the on-lookers in the crowd. However, he couldn't help but be bothered by the rumbling noise coming from the mountains. He knelt at the chopping block but kept his watchful eyes on the mountains, ready to meet his oblivion.
Suddenly, a large flying creature swooped down over the southern peaks, barreling toward Helgen.
"What in Oblivion is that?" General Tullius raised his voice as he turned his full attention at the flying creature that was heading towards their direction.
"Sentries! What do you see?" the Imperial Captain bellowed at the soldiers under her command.
"It's in the clouds!" one of the sentries shouted back.
The large flying monster perched on the tower, overlooking the execution block.
"Dragon!" one of the Stormcloak rebels yelled upon recognizing the creature.
With sharp black scales as dark as the terrors of the night and daunting scarlet eyes looking over the people of Helgen, the mighty dragon let out a deafening roar. Its roar was enough to turn skin into a sickly pallor, its claws able to lacerate even the sturdiest warriors to mere slices of flesh and bone.
"Don't just stand there, kill that thing!" General Tullius began barking orders at his Legionnaires. "Guards, get the townspeople to safety!"
The dragon roared for the second time. This time, the thunderous roar sounded more like a shout. It almost seemed like the dragon was speaking a certain language. The roar sent rains of burning meteors falling from the sky. One of the meteors struck down the headsman, throwing the executioner backwards and fatally injuring him. Seeing the executioner fall to his doom, the Imperial soldier who read the list of names drew his sword and rushed to Arbjorn's side. He attempted to act as a diversion, buying time for the Nord nomad and the others to get away and find a place to hide.
Arbjorn groaned as he pushed himself up, his ears ringing from the dragon's deafening roar and his vision slightly blurred as he stumbled to his feet.
"Hey, kinsman. Get up!" Ralof, now with hands unbound, appeared by his side and aided him in getting up. "Come on! The gods won't give us another chance!"
With all the strength he could muster, Arbjorn pulled himself together and made his way with Ralof to the nearby watchtower amidst the chaos around them, along with Jarl Ulfric and the other Stormcloak rebels.
A dragon just attacked Helgen.