A/N: Hey y'all, yes, another new story. I'm trying to rework the level system in Ravager and I'm waiting for GoT to wrap before I keep going on If You Can't Win, Cheat, since it might give me some new ideas. Anyways, had an idea and decided to run with it. Enjoy! Oh, and weapons and armor are described purely for looks, they'll have no effect on combat capability.
Golfdir Crowswing strode into Ivarstead, twin steel axes swinging from his waist, pulling his horned iron helm from his head and hanging it on his pauldron by the chin strap. The Nord was fresh from slaying a dragon in Whiterun and hearing the shout of the Greybeards, he had made his way to Ivarstead and the base of the path up to High Hrothgar. After being captured returning to Skyrim from a journey through the rest of Tamriel, he had survived the dragon attack on Helgen, making his way to Riverwood and then Whiterun, where he had fought and defeated the dragon Mirmulnir, revealing himself to be Dragonborn. As he crossed the bridge leading to the Throat of the World, he saw four figures waiting on the other side.
The first was a Dunmer, a dark elf. He was clad in full ebony armor, but wore a priest's hood in place of a helmet and a heavy black fur cloak flowed down his back. The hilt of a daedric greatsword jutted over his shoulder, and his eyes glowed a strange orange color uncommon to his race. The next was an Imperial, armored in elven steel, with an elven sword at his waist and what looked like a copy of the Shield of Ysgramor on his left arm, his back covered by a red linen traveler's cape. To his side stood a humanoid of indeterminate race, covered head to toe in strange, black fabric. His head and face were covered by a hood and veil, leaving only his strangely lit eyes showing. At his back was an ebony bow with a faint glow and at his side hung a similarly glowing ebony dagger and a sword Golfdir didn't recognize the type of. The last was a hooded and robed Khajiit, wearing the robes of the College of Winterhold.
The Imperial stepped forward as Golfdir reached the center of the bridge. "Ho, friend," he called. "Planning to climb to High Hrothgar?"
Golfdir saw no reason to deny it, nothing else lay along this path anyways. "Aye. Not sure what business of yours it is," he said.
The Imperial smiled at him. "Well, I and my companions here are looking for someone, you see. And seeing as you're trying to reach High Hrothgar, mayhaps you be the one I'm looking for."
Golfdir's eyes narrowed suspiciously, his hands falling to the axes at his waist. "And who exactly are you looking for?" he questioned.
The Imperial's smile still had not faded. "Why, the Dragonborn of course," he said.
Golfdir jerked his axes free of his belt and charged. Up till this point, everyone who came looking for the Dragonborn had tried to kill him, and he'd be damned if he gave these four the chance. Mid-charge he felt a wave of calm wash over him, but shrugged it off and angled towards its originator, the Khajiit. Basic strategy. Always kill the mage first. He was there, his axes swinging down on the mage's head, when they were intercepted by a shield. The Imperial had stepped in, throwing his shielded arm into the path of the blow. Now that he was closer, that shield really did look like the drawings of Ysgramor's shield he had seen as a boy. But then he was distracted as the Dunmer came in, swinging his greatsword with monstrous force and speed.
The Nord leaped back, disengaging from the first two and focusing on the heavily armored figure charging him down. The sword seemed to come from all directions, with the preternatural speed only elves could muster. For a few moments, he kept pace, guarding the blows with his axes, turning them aside or blocking. Then an arrow sprouted from his thigh, he stumbled, and had to throw both axes up to block a heavy overhand blow from the Dunmer's sword. The dark elf stepped back, and a second and third arrow sprouted from each of his shoulders. His arms dropped, limp, and he finally remembered the new weapon in his arsenal. Hoping to gain some space, he Shouted, "FUS!". The Dunmer, still the closest foe, stumbled, but quickly recovered as the Imperial stepped up to him.
"If you're quite done, can we talk now? We didn't come here to kill you, though it is nice to know how you handle yourself in a fight," he grouched. "Nazhiq, heal our new friend here, would you?"
"This one will do so if the Dragonborn swears not to attack again," the cat man said.
Golfdir studied them for a moment. If they were going to kill him, they would have. "I swear," he rumbled.
Healing light engulfed Nazhiq's hands, and Golfdir felt the arrows pull out of his body as the wounds closed, leaving only a small amount of residual pain. Standing, Golfdir stared down the four who had just summarily kicked his ass. Not an easy thing to do even before the entire Dragonborn business. "So what do you want?" he questioned.
"Allow us to introduce ourselves," the Imperial began. "My name is Gaven Pavo, Harbinger of the Companions, thane of Whiterun and Solitude, and Legate of the Imperial Legion. The dark elf is Nisath Helbis, master of the Volkihar vampire clan and Commander of the Dawnguard, thane of Windhelm and Markarth, and Stormblade of the Stormcloak army."
Golfdir had to interrupt. "I'm sorry, don't the Dawnguard hunt fucking vampires?" he asked. "And why in Oblivion are the Harbinger and the Commander of the Dawnguard out on some random road waiting for me?"
Gaven's smile only kept growing. "The first question is rather difficult to explain, suffice it to say it took some considerable machinations, and Nisath isn't all brawn no brain. As to the second, well. It's not just us."
The Bosmer stepped forward and inclined his head towards Golfdir. "My name is Finriel Evenwood, First Knife of Skyrim, Grey Fox of the Thieves' Guild and Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, thane of Riften, Falkreath, and Dawnstar."
Finally, the Khajiit spoke again. "I am Nazhiq, Archmage of the College of Winterhold, thane of Winterhold and Morthal, master of the five schools of magic."
At this point it was all Golfdir could do to keep his jaw from dropping open. The group standing in front of him, these four men, were arguably the most powerful assemblage in Skyrim. Thanes of all nine Holds, leaders of the major guilds, aboveboard and criminal. And based on what they had said, one was definitely a vampire lord, and another was likely a werewolf, if the rumors about the Companions leadership were true.
"So what do you want from me?" he asked.
Gaven, obviously the spokesmen for their little group. "Who says we want something from you?" he asked. "Maybe we have something to offer you."
"Like what," he said.
"Like the High King's chair in Solitude. Like the opportunity to reshape Skyrim, and the Empire itself. Like a chance to eradicate the Thalmor once and for all."
"And why should I care about any of this?"
"You're Dragonborn," Nisath spoke for the first time. "All of this will come back to you eventually, one way or another. The Thalmor will want to control or destroy you. The jarls will want your service and loyalty. The Empire and Stormcloaks will want your support. And the guilds will try to recruit you. But we, we four here, represent and can exercise control over almost all of these groups. With our support, Skyrim can be repaired. The Empire can be revitalized and the Thalmor obliterated. Shor's bones, man, we could push the Aldmeri Dominion back into the sea."
"Say I agree. What do we do first?"
"First?" Gaven had taken over the conversation again. "First you climb the Seven Thousand Steps and talk to the Greybeards. We'll tell you our history while we climb."