Ragnar
Ragnar awoke as he did most mornings, to dreams of fire. His hand came up from its place on his fur to wipe at his face, the beard he had never bothered to shave getting into his way. He grumbled. Years ago, he would have actually cared for his appearance, now, not so much. He was covered in a poor substitute for armor made up of old animal carcasses, his beard had grown long, and his hair was lengthy and uncombed, reaching to his shoulders. As he slowly stood up his muscles ached, old scars letting themselves be known before he stepped outside. The light blinded him at first, as a bright day out in the snow blinds any who can see. The fresh mountain air stung what parts of his face wasn't covered in snow or hair and he sighed. Once he would've been able to appreciate the beauty that came with such a view, now he just wished to be dead.
Freyja
She could hardly hold in her excitement as they came into view of Raven Rock port. The small but bustling port city was unlike anything she had ever set her eyes on before, beyond what her own imagination would have led her to believe it could look like. A large dominating wall held supreme in her vision, the easternmost structure of the city, holding back the large waves of ash that would occasionally blow towards the populace. So, this was Solstheim, territory of house Redoran, the great island of mystery that she had always been promised. "Something, isn't it?" Freyja cast her eyes at one of the sailors, who had noticed her appraising the city. "It's grown even larger over the years as the occupation lengthened, and the war finally ended. People will go anywhere to escape what's happening back on the mainland, even if it means coming here." As beautiful as the city was, she could see that if times weren't trying that this wouldn't be nearly a popular location as it now was. "Have you been doing this long enough to watch the port grow?" The sailor nodded his head solemnly, probably remembering better times. "Aye, I was doing this route years before the war or anything, wasn't nearly so grand back when I delivered supplies during the civil war, all started when the Dragonborn came." She perked up, finally someone who could answer some questions! "You met him when he came here to Solstheim?!" Freyja came closer to the man, barely able to keep a hold of herself. She had been following onto half hints and hope for so long on information on the Dragonborn and his notorious adventuring years ago. "I did, he took our ship here a fair few times on his trips over, got this city on the right track to expand into what you see." The old sailors head nodded as he continued about his work. "Talked to him a few times, he was a bit cold, but everywhere that man went so to did hope." The ship got pushed to the side a bit by a wave, and they both steadied themselves before he continued with his story. "All these elves owe him their lives as they know it to him, as well as the good fortune of the land, single handedly fixed the island he did." This nord had the same pride of the Dragonborn as they all did, this world owed him their lives, for all he had done and sacrificed. "Why do you ask anyways?" The old nord looked at the young woman, taking all of her in for the first time. She had on leather armor, wearing two swords on her hip and a bow on her back, with black war-paint splattered across the right side of her face. She had piercing green eyes, with fierce long brown hair, beautiful, but certainly also dangerous. "I've come here hoping to find any artifacts I can to bring back to the mainland that the Dragonborn may have come across on his journeys, not much remains of him back home." The sailor nodded sadly. After his disappearance, many had taken advantage of his absence and stolen many of the weapons and artifacts he had taken into possession. "Never took much back to Skyrim when he left here kid, who knows though, not many have come here with the same intentions as you." He looked down at her suspiciously, remembering a night years ago when they had been about to go below deck and sleep, when a man covered in ashes had thrown a sack of gold at them and demanded they sail north. Freyja noticed the sailor shudder. "Is something- wrong?" She looked the sailor up and down, he didn't look very well all of a sudden. The man looked down at her and without a word grabbed her shoulder. "Go north, you may find what you need there." Without another word, he left her to continue on in other duties. Freyja watched him leave oddly. "North…"
Ragnar
As the life finally left the frost troll for good, he pulled the long blade from it's body. Most things on this gods forsaken island had learned to give the hermit a wide berth, but trolls were simply too blood thirsty to understand much. Then again, he used to be as equally bloodthirsty. His hair suddenly picked up into the wind as a wave of snow blew against the ridge above, highlighting several figures staring down at him. Rieklings. The goblins simply identified who it was, before throwing down a bundle quite suddenly and quickly making themselves scarce. Dumb creatures, revered him as some sort of spirit or god. Ragnar reluctantly made his way to the bag they had thrown down, roughly opening it to reveal food inside, as well as a random assortment of goods. By the looks of it the creatures had found people to steal from again, or they'd taken possession of the items in a raid. He didn't care either way, nor did he care for the garbage. Taking the food and stuffing it into his pack he shouldered it and continued on his way. The deep snow had long ago stopped annoying him, not that he really cared for anything that happened anymore, he had been numb to everything for a long while, leaving him without even his famed rage that had won him countless battles. He was just a shell now, waiting to move onto the next plane of existence, if it would still take him after all that had happened, after all he had let happen. His lips curled slightly but whatever whisper of an emotion had piqued him was now gone. Ragnar simply grunted in disinterest, he was used to how he was. Nothing left to care for meant there was no reason to feel. While he was still alive, he had ceased to really fully live long ago. As the thoughts tumbled through his sluggish mind his feet had finally found him onto the shore of the island. Looking east towards Vvardenfell. Red Mountain spewed ash as it always had during his life, the cause of all of Morrowind's ruin. "At least you still have your home, before you lies my legacy Dragonborn." Ragnar only made a slight grunt noise as he saw the spirit next to him. "And yet you don't go back to fight for it, I know that I would have done anything for Vvardenfell, for Morrowind, not only because it's my home but because it was my duty as Nerevarine." The tall dark elf spirit took another step near Ragnar, his lean build hidden by the majestic armor he was adorned in, all that was left uncovered was his head and the dark mane of hair on it. Ragnar resumed his walk, stepping right past the elf spirit. "Still silent then, sooner or later you will have to face your own legacy." Luckily, that was all the spirit decided to say, as the next moment he was gone. Ragnar didn't appreciate the break of silence. In the back of his head he was very displeased that the only ones who dared challenge him so were already dead, all alive who had challenged him before had ended up dead. Of course, that was back when he was around people, before he became just a feared spectre of the north, a story for the Skaal to tell their children to keep them out of the mountains. The village had once tried to initiate contact, a hunting party had come upon him as he finished slaying a bear who had gotten too close to his cave, he hadn't even cast a glance at the Nordic group as he returned to his cave, leaving them to wonder. They had only seen him a few times after in the years following, and learned to keep their distance from the obviously dangerous hermit, in case he ever turned on them. Ragnar had no intent to kill them, nor did he care for them, if they got into his way they would be slaughtered, or if he was recognized by one of them. He'd always made sure to keep his distance or have his face hidden if he was near them, the village celebrated him for his actions when he was Dragonborn, but luckily had no clue that the hermit living in the mountains west of their village was the very same man. Of course he didn't feel like that same man. The Dragonborn had been a man of passion, Ragnar was not, Ragnar was dead on the inside and waiting for the day he would cease to exist.
Freyja
"So what are you trying to say then?" Freyja was amazed at the city when she entered it, and immediately entered the marketplace to inspect what she could find, or what kind of news she could find, and was interested as she saw a dunmer explaining his findings to one of the heavily armored guards. "Something up there slaughtered an entire group of travelers, they left to go check on a ruin for some plunder, I visit a day later to see how they're doing and all I found is bodies!" The dunmer looked crazed as he told the guard of the event, but it was hard to tell the guard's reaction inside all of that armor. "Look, whatever happened up there is out of my jurisdiction, this city, and it's surrounding farms is all we can control and guard. Anything past that would stretch our forces too thin. Try finding some mercenaries to take you up on an investigation." With that the guard left the dunmer to look down in disappointed rage. Freyja took a few steps over to the dark elf and put a hand on his shoulder. "I overheard what happened, can you tell me more about the event, maybe I could go take a look myself." The dunmer had lifted his head in suspicion on seeing the armed stranger but his spirits lifted as she offered her help. "Oh yes please! A group of miners and adventurers I had invested many septims into recently went north to check some ruins for anything to sell, as we've done before nearby. Unfortunately, all the ruins and barrows near Raven Rock have been picked clean, so I've had to send them farther and farther to make profit on these expeditions." His hands came up as he buried his head into them before he looked up, obviously upset at the turn of events. "I'd lead them to a new ruin, before heading back down to where I'd set up camp to do research on some fauna. The next day I decided to go see if they'd begun their exploration, only to find them all.. well they were all-" Freyja could tell this dark elf was very shaken by what had happened, by what he had seen. "They were dead, all of them. Not just dead though, torn apart, some looked as if they'd had- bites taken out of them." The dunmer's eyes widened a bit remembering the scene. Twenty men had gone up with him, only himself and his assistant came back. "You're saying that some creature must have killed them?" Freyja was a bit shocked at this, most beasts didn't bug large groups of people, sticking to weaker prey. "Yes, but no ordinary creature, it had to have been massive to tear apart entire bodies." Even as the dark elf spoke he got a little paler, this was no man of battle, but an elf who was making a living off of pillaging abandoned ruins. "Well, I'll see what I can do about looking around, tell me where this all happened." The dark elf nodded his head vigorously, he had friends in that group who deserved justice for their untimely deaths. He gave his name to her and told her he'd be in a tavern near the docks if she found anything out. Freyja simply nodded, and walked towards the gates. Less than an hour on land and she had already found herself heading towards trouble, better sooner than later she figured. Besides, the boat trip was boring and she needed something to lift her spirits.
Ragnar
One of the most annoying things about the refuge he had decided to become a hermit at was that it was home to many dangerous violent beings. Not dangerous to him, he had always been able to handle himself against the native inhabitants, but few others could say the same. Any sort of large scale incidence with a group of people with some of the more nefarious creatures on this island and it could lead to hunting parties coming up into his mountains, which could lead to Raven Rock learning of his existence. While unlikely that anyone could figure out who he was, it could happen, which he wouldn't allow to come to be. His walk down the beach had served a different purpose before he found that there was a new problem that needed solving. The problem being the blood soaked werebear washing itself in the salty waters. Gods above let the blood be an animal's. The dull creature was still unaware of his presence, so Ragnar let out a grunt, and watched as the massive creature snapped it's head towards him. The werebear pack had an agreement with him, the agreement being that he would kill them if they got in his way. He didn't have to utter a word to make the peace, all he did was spear one of them through the heart when he had become the prey, then killed another two who had pursued him out of vengeance. They had given him a wide berth since then. This werebear eyed him suspiciously, and Ragnar could see that it had fed recently, it was high on battle right now and the adrenaline urged it to kill more. Ragnar needed this thing to know it's place. He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, and the creature slowly calmed itself down, knowing that this situation could end very badly if it antagonized the nord enough. Once it's battle high wore off, it didn't take long to shift back into a person, leaving a hairy and very nude nord before him. "Stranger." This was the greeting most gave him when he came across them in their human form. He grunted again, letting the werebear know that it wasn't as of yet in any danger. Ragnar pointed at the bloody water where the man had been washing. "We were out on a hunt, the others took what was left back while I came to wash." The werebear was reluctant to share anything, but was in no situation to deny whatever the stranger wanted. When confronted with an armed and well-versed warrior, it was best to keep them placated. Ragnar eyed the man suspiciously. The fact that there was blood wasn't incriminating, the amount was however. Werebears didn't hunt large prey, they went for easy targets, which meant that more than likely the pack had run into a large number of somethings and gone on to kill them all. Not Rieklings, the blood wasn't the right color, which left the very likely alternative of people. The werebear stood as the stranger stood in contemplation, aware that while the man had never shared any reservations with killing people, that he wouldn't be too glad to know of the massacre his pack had just commit. "I'll just be on my way then…" The werebear had only taken a few steps before he heard the sound of a sword being drawn and started into a sprint. In this human form he stood no chance to even an amateur warrior, he wasn't trained in their inferior combat styles. Werebears survived because of their beast blood, and of course the form that blood gave them. His bones began to shift as he let himself go to the call of the beast blood, ready to spill the blood of th- ` Ragnar dispassionately tore the blade out of the corpse sideways from where he'd impaled it in the chest. Idiotic creature as the werebears could be, the situation could easily go very badly. At the very least they'd proven to him that they were too bloodthirsty to escape interest, which meant he needed to take action before the pack made another ill-advised move on the inhabitants of the island. Ragnar slid the long black blade into it's sheath, the center red pillar running down the center disappearing as the sword's light was hidden inside the long sheath. One of the last relics of his past, the Bloodskaal blade served him well in his self-imposed exile. Even if it was recognized, it was native to the island so while it may be a rare and coveted artifact, it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for someone on the island to have it in their possession. That and it's killing abilities were legendary, and while Ragnar may be waiting for the sweet release of death, he wouldn't let simply anybody strike him down. Snow gently fell upon the land as he climbed a slope, nearing the area of the mountains where he knew the werebear pack to inhabit. Inhaling the cold breeze, the scent of blood was strong in the air. He was near.
Freyja
Dread filled her chest at the scene laying in front of her. Swaths of snow were dyed with blood, chunks of body laying all around, the corpses picked clean. Scavengers had obviously visited the scene, further destroying the ravaged bodies of the group. She tiptoed around the scene, spotting large bear prints. This was unlike anything she had ever seen, ever even heard of! Bears weren't pack animals, but there was evidence that a group of at least six of these beasts had set themselves upon the adventurers. Freyja shivered as another gust of the wind hit her, she may have been a nord but by the gods it was cold out here. Not that her leather armor helped, or the fact that she refused to wear a helmet, exposing her head to the outside world, and by extension the elements. Finished observing the massacre, Freyja set off in the direction of the tracks, determined to solve this mystery, perhaps bears on Solstheim were pack animals? Whatever the answer, those people deserved justice, and she would have to be the one who delivered it. Besides, the old sailor had told her to go north in her search and seeing as how the tracks led the same way she couldn't see a better route. Anything related to the Dragonborn would truly be a boon, an artifact for people to rally around, something to remember him, whatever she could get her hands on. His death had shattered what little hope Skyrim had left, and it didn't take long for the countries enemies to take advantage of that. More, now than ever they could use his memory, the memory of the unshakable, unbreakable, ruthless nord who had been their Dragonborn to renew the lands hope. She climbed up a snowbank, gazing out across the tundra for any sign of tracks or a sign of where this pack could be. Of course, the massive bundle of fur that suddenly ran into view to her side was a bit of a giveaway. "By Talos!" Freyja quickly pulled the bow off of her back and nocked an arrow. This creature was massive, larger than any bear she had seen, and looked even less forgiving than the dull creatures she was familiar with. She released her first arrow, striking a bit left of it's neck, and watched as the creature barely acknowledged the injury. This was no bear, but something much, much more horrible. A second arrow struck its front leg, causing the thing to stumble about for a moment before using its other leg to snap the arrow off and continue its charge. With the bear just a dozen seconds away from trampling her, she threw down her bow and unsheathed one of her short swords, preparing herself. Even from this far she could see it's large intelligent, if blinded a bit with bloodthirst, eyes glaring at her. Deep inside she felt fear rise up, but she brushed it aside as much as she could as the thing was nearly upon her. Rolling to the side at the last second, she slashed as she began her movement, slicing through the massive animal's leg. The twice now wounded leg buckled, and the monster toppled over as it's momentum brought it down. Taking the initiative, she had gained, Freyja jumped up, bringing her sword into a reverse grip, with two hands on her sword and brought it down on the bear's chest. She knew her sword had struck true when the frantic movements of this abominations limbs suddenly stiffened. A relieved breath left her body, she hadn't expected such an encounter, and her limbs hurt from the sudden exertion out in this cold. This was all forgotten though at what transpired next. Freyja's eyes widened as the dying bear before her began to, shrink! Its fur disappeared, the thick, mighty limbs it once relied on shifting into legs and arms. By the gods, this thing was a werebear, she'd never imagined of something like this let alone thought she would have the chance to encounter one. The body finished its process, and she was left standing over the corpse of a large, hairy, naked nord. One day ashore and Solstheim was already proving to her why it had the reputation it did.
Ragnar
His hike up towards the beast's territory didn't take long and was uneventful. It wouldn't have mattered even if it had been, he just would have had to kill more on his way up. "This is probably the most noble thing you've done in years." Ragnar glanced to his side where the ghostly armored imperial was walking beside him. "Selfish reason to come do this of course, but noble nonetheless." The spirit appeared to try and shrug through the armor, his good nature had kept with him through his life, even when oblivion itself had gone to war with Tamriel. "Figured if old ashy came to visit I might as well do it too, how you doin' big guy?" Ragnar remained silent, steadily moving his way along the path that smelled most like bloodshed. "Glad to hear you're doing so good, even more chatty than last time as well, glad to see the improvement." This imperial's spirit never seemed to dim. The imperial hero walked ahead directly in front of Ragnar. "You don't have much time left." Ragnar paused in his march, the sudden seriousness of the imperial was odd. "You know what has to be done, and it MUST be done." Ragnar walked through the spirit, finished listening to his vague messages. The imperial took the hint, because he no longer saw the old spirit following him around. They never stuck around long anymore, back when he had first gone into exile they had spent hours trying to coerce him into action. As the years went by they lost hope that the nord would ever do anything besides find food and kill whatever got in his way. His thoughts were washed away though as the next inhale of air brought the thick smell of blood. His nose led him to a cave entrance, and drawing his sword, he began his way in. The creatures left no guard outside, no one had ever been crazy enough to venture into their den before. Bones littered the floor in every direction, and the rock seemed stained permanently with blood, with a fresh trail of it leading in. Werebears could be heard deeper inside, talking as well as growling could be heard. Finally, the path led to an opening, where the pack resided. A large fire in the middle had a group of seven werebears surrounding it, furs lining one wall marked where they slept, and a pile of bodies in a corner made it obvious to him how problematic the creatures had made everything. No body was whole, all had chunks and limbs left, at least enough parts for maybe ten people rested in the pile. Certainly large enough to cause notice if they were to go missing. People would come looking for these corpses. One of the bears lifted up his head, smelling him in the entrance, as he snapped his head around and let out a growl. The other werebears followed suite, some transformed, but four of them in their human shape looked over with surprise and hostility. "What are you doing here stranger!" A large nord, most likely their alpha, had spoken. The werebears were all weary. The stranger they had always avoided had never come near their den, and now here he was with sword drawn. "State your intentions before we tear you apart, speak!" Ragnar had seen all he needed to. Raising the sword so it's tip faced the alpha, he took a deep breath in, widened his feet into a stance that hummed with familiarity, and channeled his energy. Flowing through his hands and using the sword as a conduit, a deafening crack resounded through the room as a lightning bolt blinded the monsters, and shot right into the challenging werebear. The others stared in shock, their leader laying lifelessly on the ground, the entire front of his dirty shirt burned away where the destruction magic had burned through his body. They had scarcely any time to reflect on that as Ragnar set upon them, his sword swinging in from the side slicing one of the other non-transformed bears into two pieces and lodging his sword into one of the other bears heads. Tearing the blade out, he swung behind him, dismembering the limb that a bear had swung at him. Stumbling back and crying out, it's last moments were watching the stranger stab it's pulsing red blade into his chest. The last three had backed up, watching the carnage unfold and transforming into their more formidable form. Looking side to side, the middle bear growled and they all set upon the stranger at once, one at a time they didn't stand much of a chance, but three werebears was nearly an unstoppable force for one enemy. At least for most. Ragnar raised his blade over his head, and threw it forward at the lead animal, cutting deep into it and for the moment stopping its charge. Squaring his feet and bending his legs slightly, he swung a foot out as he called for the campfire. Reflecting the motion of his leg, the fire shot out from the burning wood and engulfed one of the werebear's legs, and as the monster fell the fire finished it off as well. Leaving one last bear coming at him, Ragnar stuck out a hand, using a spell to recall his blade towards him. The blade shot out of it's victim, only to impale itself into the last bear's back before it could finish it's charge at Ragnar. Sliding forward from momentum and stopping just as it reached him, Ragnar pulled out a knife, and pushed it as deep as the hilt into the eye, killing off this one. The last living werebear in the cave who he had thrown his sword into was struggling to get up from the floor as it saw Ragnar approach. The werebear had faced many dangerous opponents in it's life, but by Hircine this man had slaughtered them with brutal sword work, magic, and a combination of the two with mastery he had never even thought of. With no blood lust to spur it on, and fear holding the monster down, it changed itself back into a human. "P-please, you d-don't have to kill me." Ragnar took the final steps and looked down at the wretched thing below him. It would die even if he left it here, by blood loss or some other creature. Whichever took him first, it was no longer Ragnar's problem, it's suffering would be its final punishment for the slaughter. He turned his back on the pitiful werebear, hearing it choke up blood as it watched the dangerous nord go. That is until an arrow lodged itself deep into the thing's skull. As Ragnar had turned around, he had stopped as his eyes rested on a young Nordic woman, arrow drawn staring into the cave in horror, before releasing her arrow into the last monster left. He hadn't expected someone to come looking for whatever had killed those people so soon, he had taken action so quickly so that if anyone did come looking he would be done by the time they came. Obviously, this was not the case. The young nord looked at all the corpses in the room, victims as well as recently killed werebears, before resting on Ragnar himself. Her green eyes examined him curiously and suspiciously. Ragnar wanted to leave, but with the only way out blocked by the woman he was unsure of which action to take next. While he could kill her, he felt no need to as she hadn't done anything to give Ragnar reason too, if he tried to just walk out though she could see it as an attack and attempt to defend herself. Finally, she spoke, "Where in Talos' name did you get that sword?"
Freyja
She had followed the tracks the dead werebear had left to their den, or so she hoped it was. Blood was strewn about in the snow around it's entrance, as well as bones from previous victims. Tracks from both people and bears lead inside, and from what she knew of werebears they wouldn't be in their human skin unless they felt safe where they were. She was forced out of her musings though at the sudden noises coming from inside, and she quietly made her way in. From the sounds of it, there was a fight inside, and no good would come from rushing in blind to that. Tiptoeing her way in, a brief lull was followed by the sound of fire and an animalistic scream. The thin passage in finally opened up, and with an arrow nocked she peaked in. Bodies covered the floor, some had been cut apart, one was lit on fire, and deepest into the cave she saw the two parties that had taken part in the fight. A werebear lay on the ground in human form, speaking to the figure above him, begging she guessed. The figure though… he was something else. He was obviously a nord, this man looked as if he towered over other nords, and with the muscle to back it up. He had long black hair swept back reaching to his shoulders, and was covered in furs. It was however, what was in his hands that interested her the most, as she recognized the sword instantly. The infamous Bloodskaal blade of Solstheim, this blade had been wielded by both the Nerevarine and most recently the Dragonborn. And now it was in the hands of the man before her. He turned away from the dying werebear, his eyes fixing themselves on her, surprised to see someone else in this cave. She let her arrow fly, killing the pitiful creature, as the nord had obviously intended to let it suffer. She lowered her bow a bit and examined his front. The man looked slightly crazed, with the long unkempt beard and hair, but his blue eyes had an intensity that scared her. The sword shone red in the dark cave, with the dying fire sputtering out. "Where in Talos' name did you get that sword?" she finally managed to cough out. Whoever this was, he was dangerous. He had single handedly killed a pack of werebears who had made a group of twenty men their meal, and wielded a powerful ancient artifact. The nord made no comment, but his eyes never left her, he must've been thinking of what to say, or worse, what he was going to do. Freyja didn't like her odds, if he got violent she was facing a man in a space too small to effectively use her bow, and her opponent towered over her with a sword as long as she was tall. "Well, are you going to answer?" She was getting impatient, and the nord was showing no sign of speaking. Finally, he shook his head just enough to be seen, and sheathed the blade, nearly throwing them both into complete darkness. The dying light from the fire gave her just enough light to see the nord was coming towards her. "Stop right there!" Freyja pulled an arrow out, nocking it and pulling halfway back in case he got violent. The nord stopped for a moment, and Freyja's mind raced. This man could know something of the Dragonborn, but all she knew so far is that he was unresponsive and highly dangerous. Not a great combo. "Listen, as a companion I've vowed to never harm an innocent but you seem anything but right now…" she trailed off as the man finally had an emotion show on his face. At the mention of the companions his eyes lit up in anger and, hurt? "The, Companions?" She shivered as he finally spoke, his voice a deep baritone, it commanded respect and demanded attention. Gods who was this man? "Yes, the Companions, we're newly reformed after the incident in Whiterun that took our harbinger." Yes, he was definitely struggling to hold back his thoughts and emotions, she could tell that something about the Companions didn't sit well with the nord. The nord pulled his sword from the sheath, but before Freyja could pull her arrow back and fire the nord set it down in front of him and sat down. "Tell me of the companions… and I'll answer your questions about the blade." Well, he wasn't violent and promised answers, Freyja shrugged slightly and sat down, far enough from the man to have time to loose an arrow if he changed his mind. "Well, where to start, so you know of the old companions I'm guessing?" She asked out of curiosity more than anything, hoping he would say something of why he reacted so strongly to their mention. Instead she got a nod. Better than nothing she supposed. "After what happened in Whiterun, many lost hope. It took many months, but eventually many of us who had always hoped to be companions, and with help of one of the older members who was out on an assignment during the incident, we constructed a new hall in Whiterun, and the companions were reborn." She smiled a bit as the memories came to her. That had been before the occupation, when things were still ok, there was no Dragonborn, but she was finally a companion, she would finally be able to help heal her land and give people hope. "We functioned the same as the old companions, with Athis acting as harbinger since he was the only senior member left." Something flashed across the nord's face, but she couldn't identify it as it was wiped away as quickly as it came. "We also went out looking for artifacts the Dragonborn had collected in his adventures though, almost as religiously as the old companions searched for the pieces of Wuuthrad. It was hard, many took advantage of his death to claim the items, and for a while Skyrim was plagued by some of these weapons, each one we reclaimed we sent to the college of Winterhold for safekeeping, we didn't want the hall getting robbed." As she told the story the fire died out further until there was nothing left but the glow of the Bloodskaal blade. Freyja had relaxed slightly as she told the stories, but this nord was tensed, and didn't allow himself a moment to relax, his blue eyes burying themselves into her green ones. This nord was a man of intensity, a man of focus, and slightly unhinged. "That's what we've done for the last few years, the occupation stalled us a bit but we continue our work, just in secrecy now." She scoffed a bit, thinking of all the under the table agreements, hiding in the dark, she felt like a thief sneaking about as she had for the past years. "Occupation?" Freyja had been about to launch herself into another story before his deep voice made itself known. "Yes, the occupation? What about it?" It'd been going on for three years, this wasn't something that escaped notice so easily. Or so she thought, as he seemed confused. "Are you serious, you don't know about the occupation?" He shook his head. "I'm not sure how you don't," she quirked an eyebrow at his appearance, it was very likely this man had been out here alone for a while, she shouldn't be surprised he didn't know. "Well, I'm not sure how ignorant you are of current events but a lot has happened the past few years." She wished she could be ignorant of the world like this man, if only so she could in good conscience hide away and leave others to deal with it. "The Empire and the Dominion went to war, and the empire didn't win, with our southern borders exposed, the invasion tore Skyrim apart."
Ragnar
Years of exile had given him time to think of what the world was like, all the possibilities. Many of his thoughts had centered on the gods damned Thalmor and their actions with himself out of the picture, but he had never imagined they would have taken such swift action. Ragnar had been sure that even if a war had occurred, the Dominion would only have the numbers necessary to take Cyrodiil, and that worst-case scenario they would stop their advance there. He had been wrong, very wrong. "They pushed up through pale pass, Falkreath fell first, then the Rift." The young companion sitting opposite him continued her story, oblivious to the rapid thoughts going through his head. That was no surprise though, he had grown excellent at making his face an impassive unreadable mask, even if some of her words had taken her off guard. "With those two holds under firm Dominion control, the Jarls called a moot, elected Balgruuf high king. His first order was to gather all of Skyrim's armies, and he led them to battle on the plains of Whiterun." Her eyes seemed to be looking far off now. Ragnar knew she had been there that day just from how spoke of the events, her eyes had seen the horrors of battle. "It was the grandest force I'd ever seen, the most united I'd seen the land since the days of the Dragonborn. Our thousands stared off at the coming Thalmor force, and we stood our ground." The woman set her jaw defiantly, proudly. "They outnumbered us, with the addition of khajit and bosmer forces augmenting their base army. And yet still, we held our lines, pushed them off, Whiterun's cavalry forces wreaking havoc on their flanks, Eastmarch had its famed berserkers slaying their way behind enemy lines, our army stood its own." Ragnar felt deep down something, maybe pride? He couldn't tell, it was too faint to identify and had been too long since he'd felt anything to be positive of it. All he knew is that the thought of killing elves sat well with him. "Our only real weakness against them was our lack of magic users, the college of Winterhold, along with court mages and mercenary magic users were all we had, using massive ward spells to block any large destruction spells from shattering ranks." Freyja was staring down at his blade, thoughts of the battle probably battling through her mind. "As the sun set, it set on a free Skyrim. We had won the battle; the Dominion forces withdrew and celebrations followed. For the next week we had scouting forces and all the cavalry we could muster harrying their forces as it retreat back to safety, hundreds more of the elves fell in their retreat. Many considered the war won before it could truly begin, the elves had retreat back to Falkreath and The Rift, and many were adamant on advancing to reclaim the lost holds." She frowned deeper at that, and she stopped speaking for a few minutes, lost in the depths of the Bloodskaal blade. Ragnar remained silent, watching her, waiting. She mustered up her thoughts again, continuing, "we weren't truly united though, that was our downfall." She shook her head sadly. "When the Dragonborn died, so did our unity, and the Thalmor knew that. They convinced the Forsworn that with Markarth's army in Whiterun, that the perfect time to strike was upon them. It didn't take long after the news of Markarth's fall for its Jarl to sally out with his army to reclaim his city. Up north, scouts in High Rock reported of a Thalmor fleet sailing to Solitude, believing that the next decisive battle would be there and going against high king Balgruuf's commands, Solitude and Morthal marched their armies back to defend their homes. The Dominion forces in The Rift moved north, towards Windhelm, prompting yet another army to leave the gathered forces at Whiterun." Ragnar knew that had always been Skyrim's weakness of late. The holds didn't see themselves as all just one part of a whole, but as nine lands all looking out for themselves, banding together when it was convenient. The threat of the Dominion must have spooked them enough that even with a high king the Jarls had done whatever they had wanted if it meant keeping their own personal kingdom intact, never thinking of the bigger picture. "So, when the Dominion army marched on Whiterun again, it was a different story." Ragnar could easily imagine what had happened, when the much smaller undermanned Nordic army had again been set against the armies of the Thalmor. "The whole battle we were pushed back and back until we were pressed against Whiterun's walls, and glorious high king Balgruuf led all of Whiterun's cavalry in one last charge." There was nothing but admiration in her voice for the man, a man Ragnar had respected himself. "He gave the main force time to retreat into the city, while the bulk of the Dominion army was tied up dealing with thousands of bloodthirsty nords on crazed steeds. While Balgruuf went out in one last act of bravery, others didn't act quite so noble. Every Jarl still remaining in the army fled with as many of their men as they could, leaving just Whiterun's depleted forces to defend our home." The young Nordic woman shook her head, and looked up at him finally, her eyes full of defeat at the memories. "They took Whiterun. And after that they took Markarth from the forsworn, who had destroyed Jarl Igmund's armies. Skyrim never stopped fighting the elves, they just stopped doing it together." She took another pause, this one much longer than the last as she cast her eyes down at the floor in front of her, gloved fingers seeking to do anything to get her mind off of the tale she told him. Ragnar had never imagined things would have gotten this bad in his absence, although he should have known. "All that remains, after all these years of fighting, is Windhelm. As hold after hold fell, and cities fell under the watchful and iron fist of the Thalmor, all free nords looking for a fight went to Windhelm. It's only a matter of time though. That's why I asked about the blade you wield, because if you know where more of the Dragonborn's weapons could be, we could use them, give people hope, remind them of when Skyrim was strong." Ragnar, for the first time since she had entered his sight, took his eyes away from her. She was so full of… hope. She believed that they could still win. Years ago, he would have thought the same if he was in her situation, but for the past few years all that he could express was the need to get more food and his wish for death. It was odd to see someone so passionate before him, a man now devoid of it. "Worse than you thought isn't it?" a tall dark elf spirit now sat to the left of the young nord woman, gazing at him accusingly. "I told you that if you didn't act then others would, now you've heard the consequences of your actions." The hero of Kvatch was on her right, the same accusations in his eyes. Others were behind the two, spirits of past heroes, of all races looking down at him. He was past caring of their opinions. Right? "Well, now that I've told you of the companions, and the war, maybe now you can tell me how you came across that blade?" Her green eyes told him that while she wanted to hold back her expectations and hope, that she couldn't help but feel both bubbling up inside of her. "I can tell you this, nobody gave this blade to me, I found it." It was the truth, at least it was the most he was willing to tell. She piqued an eyebrow, obviously a little skeptical. "So, this super powerful ancient artifact wielded by both the Dragonborn and Nerevarine, the very sword you have before us, you found it?" This woman didn't believe a word he had said, of course that's because she didn't know he was Dragonborn, he would have doubted the truth of his words if the roles were reversed. He gave her a terse nod. He still wasn't used to speaking, and he wasn't about to try and start speaking more than necessary. "Well who are you then, why are you here, why did you kill the werebears, where did you find the sword, where have you been all these years that you've missed some of the most important events of the era, what interest do you have in the companions?!" With each question her volume rose, she wasn't happy to have met a wall in her line of questioning. He had planned to go back to his cave hours ago, now he was trapped in a cave by a woman who was unknowingly bringing up his past. Gods damn him.
Freyja
To say she was slightly annoyed at the silence of the nord in front of her was to say the obvious. She had shared two significant parts of her past, only to receive the bare minimum in return when she asked her question. At her outburst of questions, the man had the audacity to sigh! "Come on, just start with why you're here at least." It would be a start, if she could get him to start talking, then maybe she could keep doing it until she managed to get the answers she wanted and learn where he'd gotten the Dragonborn's sword. "Fine. They became a problem so I solved the problem." She scoffed a bit, calling a pack of murderous bloodthirsty werebears a problem was probably an understatement, although she had a feeling that's exactly what they were to him. "They tried to kill you, so you came here to get them first?" It seemed reasonable enough, at least to her until he spoke up again, just as emotionless as ever. "No. They haven't bothered me for years, but killing those people was bound to draw attention." Her eyes glanced over at the pile of mutilated bodies in the corner. The fact that she could sit in this cave with their scent dominating her nostrils said something to what she had lived through. "What do you mean they haven't bothered you for years, were you hidden from them?" There's no way that werebears would just share a territory with someone, they'd just kill the other. "They didn't get in my way and I didn't kill them, right up until today that was our agreement." Freyja struggled to hide the fact that she shivered a little at his statement. What kind of person could force a pack of werebears to share their territory with him simply out of fear of death? "Who in Talos' name are you?" She needed to know this, learning who he was would help her know how he got the sword, gods, they could use a man like him in their fight against the occupation. While his face was a mask, she could tell from how his eyes looked at her, almost as if they were looking into her very soul, that he was thinking of what to say. For the third time that night they sat in silence, the strange nord's eyes never moving from her own. Freyja accepted the challenge, returning the stare evenly, letting it be known that she wouldn't back down until she got answers. It seemed like they sat there for hours, Freyja patiently waiting for a response, the nord questioning if he should answer, or perhaps how he should answer. At long last, he spoke. "I'm no one anymore, except a man waiting to die. Ragnar." Freyja was both surprised and expecting this sort of answer, he looked exactly as an exile should, and anyone who walked into a werebear layer alone had to have a death wish. "Well, Ragnar, I am Freyja of the Companions, servant of Whiterun, daughter of Skyrim." The nord, Ragnar apparently, just grunted as she introduced herself. "Now, I'd like to hear a little bit more about how you came to have that sword Ragnar." She had come all the way from Whiterun to follow up leads in Solstheim for anything the Dragonborn might have left here, she'd let the daedra tear her apart before she left empty handed. "I've said all there is to know, I came across it in my travels." Freyja was lucky she had gotten this man to speak at all she surmised, if he was truly as much of an exile as she guessed, but that didn't mean that she wasn't frustrated. "Well where then did you find it, and when? I'm guessing it was after the Dragonborn's death." The nord didn't answer, grabbing the hilt and lifting it off the floor of the cave, it's faint red-light casting shadows on the walls of the cave. With no answer from him, she decided it was time to move onto something he would talk about, since this wasn't a subject he wished to discuss then. "Why are you here then, on Solstheim, in the mountains, who are you hiding from?" Her guess was that this man was a dangerous criminal, and instead of living his life imprisoned, went somewhere nobody would find him, because there was no one at all there. Still no answer. Freyja was getting very impatient. "Fine, what are you willing to tell me, I'm not letting you leave until I'm satisfied that weapon is safe in your hands." She actually was unsure if she could in fact keep him in here, but at this point she wanted answers, and he hadn't acted violently towards her, she doubted he'd start now. His mouth opened slightly after a second to answer, before the cave shook around them. Ragnar was on his feet in a second, sword at the ready as he looked towards the entrance. That's when they heard the roar outside that Freyja had very, very rarely in her life heard before. There was a dragon waiting for them outside this cave.
Ragnar
The dragon was in a way a blessing, he wouldn't have to deal with the small nosy nord now, at the very least. As the thing roared again he felt the cave shake, and didn't put it past the creature to collapse the cave slowly to get whatever was inside to come out. Obviously this dovah had been forced to come north and was going to try and make these northern mountains its new hunting grounds. That was the dragon's first mistake. Freyja had gotten onto her feet and looked at him questionably. Seems that the woman who had thought it fit to threaten him was now deferring to his judgement on what to do. "Stay in here out of the way, I'll be back." It's best she not be around, especially if the dovah recognized him. Ragnar made his way to the thin passage that led inside, only to see a few dozen feet away in the entrance the large scaled head of the dovah who had come to make them their meal. Damn the werebears, the blood trail must have led it here. Its eyes focused on him and Ragnar watched as it reared its head back slightly before a torrent of flames rained down upon him. Or at least it would have, had he not stuck a fist out, firing out his own wall of flames right back. The dovah pulled its head away from the cave in surprise as its shout was cut in half and its head was bathed in flame. Of course, the dragon wasn't harmed in any major way, dragons were resistant to flame. The trick served its purpose though, as the dragon lifted itself off the ground, flying up before circling the cave, sending a fireball into the mountain where it knew the cave to be. Ragnar steadied himself as the cave shook yet again. This fight needed to be taken outside before the cave was collapsed with himself and the young companion inside. Throwing off his outer layers of furs, leaving just a sleeveless shirt and pants to cover his limbs, the more clothing he wore the more likely he would be to get lit on fire by himself or the dovah. The dragon passed over him, and he slowly inhaled the cold air outside, setting himself into a preparatory stance to help channel energy, before releasing a larger, deadlier version of the lightning he had used against the werebear earlier. Channeling it through two fingers to aim it more accurately, the dragon roared as the joint between wing and body was cleanly broken, sending the graceful monster crashing into the ground nearby. When he had first practiced such magic, using a spell like that would have exhausted him completely, now even after years of no practice, he still barely felt the expended energy. Walking towards the creature sword unsheathed and ready, the dovah righted itself and tucked its injured wing toward its body, clearly in pain, sending another jet of fire at Ragnar. Swinging the sword above his head and down towards the snow, a red wave of energy did the same as his fire did in the mouth of the cave. The wave cut through the fire, striking the dovah's snout and causing a dark puddle of dragon blood to pool under its mouth. Ragnar continued his way closer to the dragon, and now it began to see that it was clearly outmatched, even if its opponent was many times smaller than it. Its head darted forward, the dragon intending to eat the nord marching towards it, only to have the snow under it to be thrust into the bottom of its head, lifting the dovah's head up higher than the top of the nords head, and froze there leaving its neck exposed. Ragnar shook his head, this must have been a young one, it was in no way experienced at fighting, not that one of the ancients would have stood a chance against him either. With almost bored effort Ragnar swung the blade through the thing's throat before it could wrestle its way out of the frozen snow he'd thrust its head up with. It didn't take long for the blood to flow out, and Ragnar sighed. The poor dragon hadn't known who it had intended to make its meal, unaware that it had challenged the Dragonbo- oh gods. Ragnar was a fool, a complete utter fool. He looked up in alarm to the cavemouth, where an openmouthed Freyja must have witnessed his fight against the dovah, Ragnar just now realizing that he should have just scared the creature off, when the dragon's skin started melting into light, right into Ragnar's body. He used to crave this feeling, the rush of energy, of conquest and domination that came with it. After years of nothing, no emotion, no passion, not even living, just existing, it was incredible, he felt AWAKENED. Memories and experiences flashed past his eyes, all that the dragon knew, he now did. The soul settled itself into his, now fully absorbed, and the world was left in its bleak whiteness as it was before. Ragnar had gone down to one knee, the sudden, unexpected sensation had been too much for a man who had gone years without it. As he slowly gained back control of himself, he slowly lifted his head where he had last seen the companion. She was running towards him, looking thoroughly baffled at the events that had transpired.
Freyja
What in the gods names did she just witness. Ragnar had been incredible, she had fully expected to enter Sovngarde when the dragon had opened its mouth letting out a blast of fire, only to find that Ragnar was just as capable of sending out streams of it himself. Not only was he a dangerous capable warrior, but a powerful mage too? She'd done things she had never even thought possible, the lightning, the wave of energy he released from the Bloodskaal blade, freezing its head up above himself so he could cut its throat open. This was all unbelievable, but then he'd absorbed the monster's soul. That simply wasn't possible. Only the Dragonborn could do that, and he was… dead? She was so confused. Accounts of the night the Dragonborn died was mixed and vague as none were sure of the exact details. All that could be said for sure is that in the dead of night, Jorvasskr was burned to the ground with everyone in it left trapped inside, already dead or dying. By the time the Whiterun guard had managed to get through the burned down rubble into the stone basement quarters, everyone was already dead, burned beyond recognition. The Companions were all but gone, only Athis hadn't been present during the incident, the only one left to continue their traditions. Was it possible that this exiled nord could be… Freyja had run to where he was, kneeling in the center of where the soul had disappeared into. His eyes looked at her, wary, and this only furthered her suspicions. "Your name, it's not Ragnar, is it?" The nord was silent, slowly standing to his full height, heads taller than her, his broad shoulders and muscled frame bare to the elements now that his furs were shed. "It is now." With that the nord marched past her, off towards the cave, beckoning her to follow. Freyja walked after him without question, she needed answers after that display. Ragnar didn't look back, he stepped into the now burned cave entrance, picking up his furs and throwing them on before settling down where the two had talked before. Of course, in the few minutes between that conversation and now, everything had changed. If the Dragonborn lived… Skyrim had hope, the people would unite under his banner, the Dominion wouldn't be prepared to fight against an enemy they thought dead or a sudden uprising he would surely incite. With that in mind though, why was he here? The world had thought him dead for years, until Freyja had found a wild hermit who obviously cared little for anything, including himself. The mighty Dragonborn of legend now living in the middle of nowhere clad in animal furs, not many would believe her. Freyja sat down across from him, while she was still wary of him, she doubted at this point he would harm her, he was the Dragonborn after all. "I should kill you." Ragnar said as she sat herself down, unsettling given what she had been thinking. "Why is that, Dragonborn?" Ragnar didn't look happy at the use of the title and grit his jaw. "Do not call me that, I'm not who you think I am." The man seemed genuine, and for the first time since she'd met him, his emotions played openly on his face, this man was defeated. His eyes reflected a deep sadness, his shoulders were slouched, whatever had happened to him, had changed him. "Then who are you, Ragnar of Solstheim?" The nord seemed more comfortable with that for now, no wonder if it was his chosen identity since his alleged death. His eyes looked up at her question, burning into her. "A dead man, waiting for the after life to take me." Freyja was so confused right now, she should be angry at him for letting Skyrim become as bad as it was, but seeing the man of legend before her, she couldn't be. He was broken, shattered, barely held together by the promise that eventually he would die, and a self-adopted name. "That night the companions hall burned, everyone thought you died, but what really happened, you used to be the Dragonborn, I know that at the very least." Ragnar stood up, looking down at the Bloodskaal sword, where he had set it down between them, the last relic of his past he had kept. "I exacted vengeance on those who destroyed the hall, that was the last thing I had left to live for, the only reason I had to breath. Now I'm here." Freyja had spent her story telling remembering all that had transpired at the Battle of Whiterun, now she could see him sifting through memories he had left untouched for years back on the surface of his thoughts. "Uniting Skyrim wasn't a reason to live, caring for your people, defending them, defending your legacy wasn't important?" Freyja stood as well, closing the distance, her anger consuming her. While moments ago she had felt no ill will at his actions, his words called her to action. This man claimed that there was nothing left to live for, he had let the world believe him dead for years because of this?! "You let your grief control you, Skyrim has suffered because you've let yourself become entrapped in your own sorrow!" She shoved the nord roughly, only managing to throw his furs off, the massive man barely moving. "Skyrim didn't fall because one man wasn't there for the fight, Skyrim didn't need me it needed a symbol, one the weak divided land couldn't cough up. The sentimental fools are hung up on the legend of a man whose own name isn't known, only his title." Ragnar looked down at her, his disgust present, as well as his anger. "The Dragonborn isn't who you think he is, and HE IS DEAD!" The temperature rose and Freyja backed away as the angry force of nature continued his rant. "My home invaded in the dead of night, I gave everything to my country and what do I get in return, my family SLAIN!" Ragnar stood still now, looking at nowhere as she saw his eyes reliving the night. "I did all I could and it wasn't enough, my family is dead because of me." He stumbled down into a sitting position on the cave floor, defeat written across his features. "So, I came to Solstheim, where the perpetrators thought they'd be safe from me, I killed them, and then died. The Dragonborn died, leaving Ragnar." Freyja was in shock. She had no idea that the Dragonborn had a family, there was never any talk about it, Athis hadn't even spoken of them. "Ragnar, I-I'm so sorry…" she was unsure what to say now, finding a broken Dragonborn hiding in exile hadn't exactly been something she predicted occurring. Counseling him through it, also not something she thought would ever happen. Ragnar was sitting on the cave floor, looking at the wall but at the same time looking at nothing, acting as if unaware of her existence. Freyja scooted over, within arms reach of him, not knowing what to do. For the moment, she just took the time to examine him now that she was closer. With the furs off, she got a better look at him, and was horrified at the little she could see. With the sleeveless shirt Freyja examined his bare arms, covered in scars everywhere she could see. Whether it be bite marks, cuts, burns, torn off chunks, his arms were just a mess of muscle mass and scar tissue. Freyja could only see one scar at the base of his neck, and a vertical face scar from the base of his jaw, up along his cheek, ending near the edge of his eye. His beard was long and unkempt like his hair, upon closer look the black was mixed with slight brown, and his eyes while strikingly blue had grey mixed into them, and seemed to see everything. It was several minutes of her gazing upon him, slightly in disbelief that she was so close to the Dragonborn, if a bit disappointed at the situation it came about in. "Ragnar, can I ask… who did it?" her words seemed to pull him out of his reverie, his eyes focused and he looked over to where she'd moved. "The Thalmor found a werewolf pack with a grudge against us, and the two groups snuck into the city and assaulted the hall in the dead of night." Freyja had questions, but was afraid if she interrupted that he would close back up, this was the first time he'd opened up on his own. "I awoke to screams, and fire. The halls were filled with smoke, and I told my family to follow me. I cleared a path through the smoke, and ascended the stairs, where I saw them all waiting for us to come up like trapped rats. Thalmor agents and werewolves alike, battling my outnumbered brothers." He paused briefly, and Freyja watched him breath in, the temperature in the cave rose again. Ragnar was, unstable it seemed. His powers were vast, but his sanity was broken. "I rushed into the fight, doing all I could to tip the odds into our favor. The Thalmor had prepared well, using illusion magic to make it seem that the hall was in no trouble looking at it from the outside, and that no noise would escape the hall. So, we fought." The temperature fell again, his face becoming unreadable again, as he regained control of himself. "They'd braced the doors with magic, I had one of our men trying to break it open so that my family could escape, so that we could get help, I'd have opened the door myself but the Thalmor assaulted me with magic to keep me busy. That's when it happened. One of the werewolves had slain a companion, the last man holding them from the group trying to get out." She was completely transfixed now, if she closed her eyes, she felt as if the scene was playing before her eyes, the burning, screaming, metal on metal, bloodshed, all of it. "I shot the beast through with lightning, another one of them raked his claws across my side while I was distracted, by then it was too late, my aim was off, the attack was painful, but not deadly." Ragnar's hand unconsciously went to his ribs, brushing over where she guessed he had taken the wound. "The monster had already killed my-" Ragnar choked the word out, "daughter before the lightning had struck, and as I fended off the wolf who'd struck me, it got my wife, both dead in just moments." Ragnar looked at her now, and Freyja was shocked by the sheer emotion his eyes held. "By then, it was only me left of the companions, and just a few Thalmor and some wolves. The Thalmor destroyed their dead so the bodies wouldn't be found in the rubble and escaped with the wolves, I followed as quickly as I could but my wound… I was hurt badly. The wolves knew of a route the companions used to come and go from Whiterun in secret, under our forge, and used it to enter and exit the city, where they escaped, myself hot on their heels. All I had was the Bloodskaal sword and the clothes on my back, but I gave them no rest, my vengeance drove my body faster than any normal man could take. The wolves and Thalmor barely kept ahead of me, and eventually I managed to grab one of the Thalmor who'd lagged behind, found out that the group was heading for a port on Solstheim where a ship awaited to take them to Dominion land." Ragnar lit a flame in his hand, a small one, and watched the flames dance before him, thinking back on those weeks of hunting, years ago. "I left only ashes of the elf, found transport north, and finally faced them at the small outpost port they had constructed." Freyja could only imagine him, the Dragonborn in all his might, ravaged by loss, spending weeks with his emotions festering until he finally found his prey. "I destroyed the boat first, sank it so they knew it was either kill me, or die. And then I killed them. Every last Thalmor knew my rage that night. And then I was… empty. I had no purpose. The world thought everyone in the hall to be dead from the fire. There was nothing left of me, just the thought of going to Sovngarde upon my death to be with my family, so I've waited here in the mountains for that death." Freyja had experienced the death of freedom in Whiterun, but she hadn't lost her family, she couldn't even imagine that. "I'd have killed myself already but doing so would mean entrance to Sovngarde would be impossible." He'd gotten that bad, she realized, bad enough that the hero of their age would consider taking his own life. As far as the Thalmor knew, the Dragonborn died in Jorvasskr with his family. She doubted he'd have been left alone if they knew he'd survived their attempt on his life back in Whiterun. "I'm, sorry for what I said. I didn't realize what you'd gone through," Freyja felt the hot sting of guilt now that she knew why he had decided to remain dead to the world. The hermit shook his head a bit but remained quiet for now.
Ragnar
The Nerevarine stood looking down upon him, the Hero of Kvatch at his side. Their spirits had been present the entire time he'd told his tale, they had lived the experiences through his eyes anyways, but seemingly had wanted to let him know they were there to listen as well. "You struck the hand, but it's not the limb that decides whether to strike or not," the Nerevarine nodded at the imperial's words. "Your families true killers walk free, not to mention one of the fingers yet lives." To add to his point the ghost wiggled an armored finger in front of him, the two spirits were alone for now, others of his past lives left him alone for now. Freyja's presence remained, watching him. He'd been coerced out of one of his flashbacks to continue his story for her, knowing she'd spent the time examining him. He imagined she reacted the same as most who saw the Dragonborn out of his armor. Disgust. Many didn't realize the toll of being the sort of symbol and icon he was to Skyrim. His body was covered in scars, burns, injuries of all types and sorts. His chest was much worse, most enemies aimed at either the chest or head when attacking, and between the two Ragnar would rather take a hit to his chest. Besides his bare scarred arms, he for the first time in a while wondered at the condition of his hair, and beard. He knew it had grown long and wild, if her reaction at his initial appearance was anything to go by. His eyes travelled to look at her, green eyes immediately meeting his. If he was sure of one thing, it was that this young woman had spirit. Few would meet his eyes with as much challenge as she, especially after a display of his powers like he had shown against the dragon earlier. Freyja was made of good stock, she had to be to survive this deep into Solstheim. Two short swords adorned her hips, and a quiver poked its way over her shoulder, typical weapons of a lightly armored skirmisher, or a scout. The leather armor probably did better to keep her warm than heavier metal armor. Long brown hair was pulled into a simple braid reaching down between her shoulder blades. She was a small woman, although most people were small compared to him. There were few others he had met that were bigger than himself, those that were had hit the point where they seemed overly large. Balancing strength with endurance had been a challenge, but Ragnar had mastered it young in his life and had only gotten better at it as the years went by, not that his time of exile had helped. Ragnar let his eyes move back to her own green ones, wondering where to go from here. She beat him to it however, surprising him. "Ragnar, if you'd let me, I would like to remain with you up here for a time." His brow furrowed as he wondered at the sudden proposition, although his threat on her life may have something to do with it. "Why?" Talking was still very different to him, and he didn't enjoy that today had brought so much of it. "You wish to remain here, I'm guessing, as you have for years, but that doesn't mean you can't help me at the same time." The same glint of hope from earlier in the day shone in her eyes, obviously what she was about to ask was important to her. "Your adventures are legendary, as are the artifacts, some of which we've recovered. With your instruction and experience, I'd like to learn as much as I can about them, so I can use every tool we have access to against the dominion." The ghostly spirit of the imperial nodded his head approvingly, clapping the Nerevarine on the shoulder, the dark elf as professional as ever. "I… suppose that would be fine."
Freyja
She'd seen her share of men who didn't sleep well. Living with the companions, going out into the field on missions, she had noticed when one of the others would wake from a bad dream, or awake startled at something they had believed to be really happening. Ragnar was going through something else entirely at the moment. Once he'd granted his permission to let her stay with him, they had made their way to his cave miles away, a small cave adorned with furs and food. He had spent hours into the night staring off at the wall, likely recounting old memories that the days event had stirred. Freyja couldn't fall asleep and had gone about carving a small piece of wood, then laying down on a sleeping roll she'd had in her pack restlessly awaiting sleep. At some point she finally managed to enter sleep. It was only a few hours later she found herself awaking to strange noises coming from across the cave. Tiptoeing her way to where Ragnar slept, she saw him rolling side to side, whatever words he was speaking in the dream came out only as mutterings, and the dream became violent again as he swung about, surely his dream self was setting into the enemy. While she had seen people mutter a bit and roll around, it wasn't nearly this bad. His movements were violent and jerky, his face fixed into a snarl, whatever battle he was reliving must have been one of epic proportions. It continued for well onto an hour, many times longer she'd ever seen one go for. Then it was two hours, she had sat down in the center of the cave, watching in rapt attention to the man. It was halfway through the third hour his torso shot up and he threw off a fur, looking around with crazed eyes. "Up UP! The orcs have set upon the leftern force across the river!" Freyja stood up in shock, taking a step back before he grabbed her shoulder, as if it would help her understand his words. "Ragnar what are you talking about?!" His grip was tightening, although his eyes were returning to normal, and finally his arms dropped, as his eyes scanned his surroundings. "Ragnar… yes. Ragnar." He spoke the words to himself as if to confirm it, and walked to where he had slept, sitting back down.
"Ragnar, what was that?" Freyja had never seen something like this, and his statement itself was odd. She'd never read about the Dragonborn doing combat against the orcs in his ventures. "Just old memories." The nord had nothing left to say and laid himself back down, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling, one of his hands rubbing at a spot below his ribs. She guessed that the scarred man associated memories with old wounds, the mention of one prompted the other to unconsciously make itself known. Many of the older men she had known would proudly wave their old scars around as they told exaggerated stories of its origin. Ragnar did no such thing, though to be fair he didn't say much anyways. "What happened?" She was sitting in the middle of the cave, head cocked slightly in curiosity. She would be lying if she said she didn't want to stick around to hear more stories of his past. The nord grunted questioningly at her. "What happened with the orcs, you said they'd engaged the flank over the river or?" For many moments he said nothing, before propping himself up on an elbow and locking his eyes on hers. "Before I was the Dragonborn, I was a mercenary in High Rock, the dream was one of the worse skirmishes we fought against orc raiders." His hand rubbed the spot again, and Freyja made her way over, Ragnar's eyes suspicious as she neared. Getting just close enough to be within arms-reach, she held out a tentative hand to the spot he had been touching. If she were to get this man to teach her how to defeat the Dominion, she would have to get him to open up to her, that meant learning of his past, and the remnants it left. His eyes darted to the hand reaching towards him, but he didn't stop it, only moving his hand off of the spot. Freyja's hand felt through the rough texture of the shirt, pressing against his body, immediately coming into contact against a thick vertical scar under his ribs. "Orc spear, threw me off my horse and into the mud, taught me to never stop paying attention to my surroundings." Her fingers felt the scar, but even with the limited contact she could feel several others close to it before she moved her hand away. "How old were you when you got that one?" She wasn't exactly sure of his age, but the Dragonborn was young when he first began his legendary journey into being Skyrim's savior. It took the nord a moment to think of the answer, before he finally settled on an accurate as he could get number. "Round' sixteen, it was the beginning of the Wayrest Wars, when it was still just skirmishes." Gods, sixteen?! She'd been confined to within Whiterun's city limits when she was sixteen, hadn't begun formal weapons training until she was nineteen. It made sense though, only a man whose life was war would have the fortitude of will to fight threats like Alduin. "Was that one of your first battles?" She hoped it was, if he was robbed of a childhood as well as cursed with a life full of crisis' and world ending events then he was truly damned by the gods. "It was one of the first few I directly fought in, my father let me watch his mercenaries engage enemy forces beginning when I was thirteen." The nord looked thoughtful now, Freyja could only imagine what he was thinking of, she'd never heard mention of his father, or his past before Helgen. "I got my first real taste of battle when I was eighteen, at Riverbreak fort, the orc army was attempting to use the bridge there to cross into Breton lands, and my father's mercenary company was paid to hold it along with garrisoned Breton troops. The Breton fought hard but were undermanned in the area from constant fighting against orcs and other city states. With my father's men and some other mercenary groups, we were nearly even, which still left us disadvantaged against the orcish heavy infantry." Freyja's eyes remained upon Ragnar's blue ones, staring off into the past remembering the story he shared with her. "He trusted me to hold the line with the men, and that's exactly what I did. If that bridge fell, we didn't get paid, which meant that if I wanted to eat that I would hold our forces until the orcs gave up. Luckily for us the orcs didn't have any battle shamans with them that day, letting the Breton spell swords to wreak havoc on them, I doubt we'd have lasted long without their support." One of his hands scratched at his thigh, rough calloused fingers digging against a scar most likely. Her hand was on it the second his wasn't, and his eyes snapped back onto her at the contact, before he continued the story. "Even with their support, we barely kept them at bay. They needed the food their raiding provided to keep their villages fed, we were fighting a desperate hungry enemy. One of their battle axes found its way through our shield wall and into my thigh, cutting through the armor like it was wet paper." Her fingers moved down the long-scarred gash, nearly a foot in length. "One of the spell swords was near and able to heal it quickly before I bled out, though by then the battle was nearly over anyways, the orcs were forced to retreat for easier pickings." As her hand finished feeling the wound, she pulled it back and rested it on her own thigh. She much preferred this story teller than the one last night. The tale of losing his loved ones and the vengeance that followed showed just how unstable the Dragonborn's mind was. Right now though, he seemed a different man, a nostalgic nord just telling yet another war story. It didn't last long, as the story finished and his thoughts of the years following the battle no doubt flooded his mind. "I'll be going back to sleep, I recommend the same to you." As polite a dismissal as he could muster, Freyja got the message and walked back to her sleeping roll, noting that for the next hour his eyes remained open, staring into the wall as if it held all the answers, and that simply staring it into submission would force it to tell him what he needed. She had a long job ahead of her if she wanted to coerce this broken man to return to Skyrim with her.