Hero Series Part Two
HERO BY CHOICE
Extended Description: Ulfric Stormcloak is dead, killed without explanation by an orc Dragonborn. Deborah must travel to High Hrothgar to learn about her newfound destiny and find out who the mysterious, murderous orc is. She must also, somehow, find a balance between being Dragonborn, the Champion of Meridia, and a friend, lover, and mother.
This is not your typical Skyrim/Dragonborn story, not in the least. Skyrim quests and plots are altered completely, new ones are added (though I would hardly call them "quests" as opposed to necessary actions), no in-game dialogue or plotlines will be played out, and the Dragonborn (well, the narrator of the story) is not even from Nirn. I hope this intrigues enough of you newcomers to check out "Hero by Mistake" and then read this sequel. If you want to skip the first Book, I believe you will understand the plot of Book Two alright, but feel free to ask me questions.
TL;DR: The following story is what happens when a modern-day non-combat-ready woman gets ripped into another reality where coffee and toilet paper do not exist but dragons and zombies do and she is driven by the gods to be a hero.
Disclaimer: All Skyrim in-game characters, themes, questline plots etc. are property of Bethesda Softworks.
AN: Welcome back, lovely readers! Here begins the sequel to "Hero by Mistake". We're getting right back into it. If you're opening this chapter and wondering what this story is about, I strongly recommend reading Book One first.
For those of you who have been diligent but silent readers, I'd love to hear from you. Post a comment or shoot me a PM to let me know what you thought of Book One. As always, I appreciate constructive criticism!
Also, I'm going to try to stick to posting shorter chapters of about 2-4k words. Operative word being "try"!
I will also be posting this story on a weekly schedule, so please expect a new chapter every Sunday, and feel free to send me angry messages if I ever forget! heh. Keep tabs on updates via following this story or following me on tumblr: Skyrim-Junkie dot Tumblr dot Com.
Anyway, without further ado...
Chapter 1 – Fate
One decade ago…
"An ouroboros! Very cool. I haven't done one of these in years." My tattooist, Andy, took the printed copy of the design I'd chosen months ago to copy it onto transfer paper. "Do you really want it that big?" He held up the design to the light.
"Yep," I answered, "right between the neck and lower back ones. Need it big enough to put a design inside the circle, eventually."
"What design?"
"Two intertwined snakes, a motif from Çatalhöyük."
"From where?"
I chuckled. "A settlement from about nine thousand years ago in Turkey. Really cool civilization. Perhaps the only sedentary egalitarian civilization that ever existed."
Andy furrowed his brow, perhaps trying to decipher my nerdspeak. "Remind me… 'egalitarian' means equal, right?"
"Basically. Equal access to resources. Everyone gets a piece of the bison sort of deal. Everyone helps out."
"And they liked snakes there?"
"They liked aurochs – ancient wild cattle – worshipped them, probably. Some think they were something of a 'goddess culture'. Anyway… they used animals in most of their designs, yeah."
"So what's with all the snakes? You already have this spiral which could be a snake you said, and now this ouroboros and later the other design. You have a thing for snakes?"
"Hmm? Oh, I don't know." Andy was now prepping my back, his canvas, and I was prepping my nerves. "I've always loved snakes."
"Ever had one as a pet?"
"No. I don't like the idea of keeping an animal like that in a little tank. Plus I don't like that whole feeding process…." I squirmed at the memory of feeding frozen pinky mice to the wildlife refuge mascot, a ball python named Balthazar that had been abandoned by his previous owner. I adored that snake, but hated preparing his food.
"Snake symbolism is really interesting," Andy said. His musings always made good conversation, and also served as a pleasant distraction. "Healing, immortality, underworld…. I suppose the ouroboros could be a symbol of immortality as well as the cycle of life and death."
"See, that's why I like you, Andy. You know symbolisms."
"My art degree didn't go completely to waste." He chuckled. "Alright, fellow nerd, brace yourself…."
I closed my eyes and forced myself not to flinch when the tattoo needle touched down on my mid-back.
. . . . . .
One year ago…
Once I was left to my own devices at the college in Winterhold, I took it upon myself to read as much as possible. I took extensive notes from the multitude of instructional books and spell tomes, but also read other, non-magic-related books that the library housed.
On a particularly bad morning after once again dreaming of Helgen, I approached Urag gro-Shub to see if he had any books about dragons. He had exactly one. The book was locked away in what I assumed was the "special collections" area, and was kept in a wooden box.
"It's old," Urag said. "I have never seen another copy. If you damage it, I advise you to walk away and keep walking straight on out of Skyrim." The old orc next handed me a pair of thin cloth gloves. "Wear these at all times while handling the book. Sit right here where I can see you." He pulled out a chair for me at a table near his desk. "You can copy whatever you like from the book. Keep your quill and ink away from it, though, alright?"
I nodded.
"Alright. Have fun." Urag shot me a terse look and returned to his desk.
The brown leather cover of the book had already begun to dry and flake apart, but the embossing and imprinted designs were still visible. The borders of the cover boasted a kind of Celtic – or I supposed Nordic – knot in each corner, and the center of the cover had a curious design I couldn't decipher. At first glance the imprint, surrounded by an embossed square, looked like a decorative fountain, the sort one might see in the center of a town. There was a flat base, and above it several curved lines that resembled splashed water, with three florets in between the symmetrical design. However, on closer inspection the design on top of the base looked more like swirls of air, and what I thought were florets were actually birds. One of the birds shot straight up from the center of the base, and the other two flanked the central bird's jet-stream.
"Wait a minute," I mumbled to myself in English. I had seen this design before. I peered to my right at a shelf full of books, stood, and half-pulled a brown book out to examine the cover. I rolled my eyes when I saw the same exact design on the first book I looked at. I sat back down and scolded myself for over-analyzing; the books were simply made in a similar style, perhaps by the same book-maker.
Thath era dovahn. "'There… Be… Dragons'?" Seriously? The title of the book was the Norren version of the English phrase I knew well. I chuckled at the odd coincidence, but moved on.
A report on the nature of dragons.
The last known sighting of a dragon in Tamriel was in the time of Tiber Septim. He made a pact with the few remaining dragons, swearing to protect them if they would serve him. Despite his promise, dragons were still hunted and slain.
"Well that's rude," I whispered to myself in English.
It's not clear if the last ones fled Tamriel or if they were kulatrintur. There is no credible story of how dragons came to be.
"'They just were, and are'." I didn't recognize many words in the book, but "unchanging" and "not born" stood out to me.
Unaza, nindalafa, unchanging, and singava. They are not born or klukt. They do not mate or fjelkar. There are no known examples of dragon eggs or young dragons.
I continued to read the passage.
Although they are not born, dragons can die. During the Dragon War of the Merethic Era, their numbers were weakened. The Akaviri aadaken of the late First Era are said to have hunted and killed many of them, before and after their defeat by Emperor Reman. Some sources say the Akaviri brought over dragon-killing spells.
"Bingo…." There were many more words I didn't understand, but I copied down the passage all the same.
Phrases like "hunted and killed" and "dragon-killing spells" stood out like flashing neon signs. Yes, yes please, I silently pleaded for explanations.
Others claim they built snjala traps. One tale even speaks of a rare poison. It is well accepted that a dragon's most fearsome weapon is its fiery breath.
"What? That's it!?" My English whispering was harsh, as if the book could register my disappointment. The paragraph about killing dragons with traps, spells and poisons had ended without any further discussion. I was furious, but kept on reading and copying down the text into my journal nonetheless.
Because they could fly overhead and rain down flaming death, archers and mages were necessary when hunting them. It is less well known that some dragons could breathe a freezing uth of frost. The reports indicate that dragons might do one or the other, but not both.
Most people think of dragons as mere beasts. However, rokrezaar they must have had language in order for Tiber Septim to have negotiated with them. Indeed, the historical record is quite clear that dragons were highly intelligent. They had their own language, but could also speak the languages of men and elves.
"Well, I'll be damned." The concept of an intelligent flying giant lizard pretty much scared the crap out of me, but I kept reading.
Even without this most medaethra weapon, their nearly ugjena hide and stone-like teeth and claws made them terrifying opponents.
"Geezus."
No dragon has been seen for centuries. There are a few known examples of dragon bones joined with the stone and rocks of cliffs and caves. Just enough proof to make the stories undeniable.
When I finished copying the contents of the book, I sat back and stared at the artifact. I didn't know what I thought I'd find – answers, maybe. Answers to questions like, how many dragons there were in the world, or what it actually meant when they resurfaced. Stenvar and I had agreed that the reappearance of dragons likely meant that the legendary Dragonborn was due to arise as well. Dragonborn, a dragonslayer with special magic and the ability to produce special shouts that could kill a dragon.
I reread passages from the book I had just copied. Dragon-killing spells and rare poisons. There was no indication whatsoever as to what those spells or poisons were. Perhaps, I thought, these "Akaviri" people will know the answer.
I replaced the old book into its wooden case, removed my cloth gloves, and returned to Urag.
"Thank you for this book, Urag," I said as I placed the wooden box and gloves on his desk.
The orc shrugged. "It's my job. Why do you want to know about dragons, anyway?"
I bit my lip, reluctant to tell my life story to every single person I met. "I heard they have returned," I lied. "I was just curious. Now," I leaned my folded arms on his tall wooden desk, "do you have a book on people called 'Akaviri'? I am curious about their culture."
Urag turned back to me, saw that I was leaning on his desk, and looked like he was about to explode in a verbal tirade. I immediately righted my posture, and the orc calmed. "Akaviri, eh?" Urag raised a hand to his mouth, and with his thumb and forefinger gave his tusks a slow stroke. The motion unnerved me for whatever reason, though I knew I made the same movement, stroking my invisible beard, as it were, whenever I was feigning deep thought. "All we have is the one book," he said as he started off to my left. "A short thing. Perhaps one of the most common books in all of Tamriel, though." We stopped in an area of books labeled "World History". He pulled the slim book from the shelf and slid in a place-card to indicate its position before handing me the book. "Anything else?" he asked me.
"Ehh, maybe…." I bit my lip again. "Do you know if there is anyone that might know spells big enough to kill dragons? Or poisons for dragons?"
"Hurr, you're funny," was all the old orc said before walking back to his desk.
The book he had handed me was called "Mysterious Akavir", and when I skimmed to a line that read "these men were eaten long ago by snake people" I sighed in defeat.
. . . . . .
One second ago…
Something warm splashed into my eyes and mouth, snapping me out of my daze.
Blood. Ulfric's blood. I wanted to wipe it away but I was paralyzed, terrified as I watched the orc remove his warhammer from the mess that used to be Ulfric's head. Lengths of greying, strawberry blond hair and chunks of brain were removed from the ground, adhering to the warhammer's spiky end. I caught a glimpse of an eyeball and gagged. Yrsarald, who had been kneeling beside me, sprung forth with a growling cry, and lunged at the orc. While he was leaping mid-air, the orc shouted something and turned into a ghostly, foggy, translucent figure, and Yrsarald fell flat on his stomach. I heard him wheeze, and knew the wind had been knocked out of him. Guards loosed their arrows at the ethereal orc, but failing to hit their intangible target the arrows instead clinked against the stone ground. The orc ran fast, very fast, disappearing into the depths of the city. At Galmar's command, guards darted passed us to find and capture Jarl Ulfric's murderer.
I finally collected my bearings and scrambled over to Yrsarald, helping him out of his own stunned state. When I looked into his reddened face, I saw the rage that was building within him. He was growling, his chest was heaving, and his fists and jaw were clenching and unclenching repeatedly. He was on the verge of shifting into his beast form.
"Yrsa, Yrsa don't," I whispered. "Don't change." My hands cupped his cheeks as I forced him to look at me. A ring of gold had formed around his blue irises, and glowing yellow slivers crept inward, toward the constricted pupil. His inner bear wanted out. "Yrsa, you don't have to change. The guards will get him. They'll find him." My fingers knotted into Yrsarald's long locks as I pleaded with him to calm down. The yellow in his eyes grew brighter, and I began to fear for my life, and for the lives of anyone else nearby.
The city had gone silent, still, as if waiting for the world to explode. I heard nothing but the pounding of my own heart and Yrsarald's quiet growling.
But screams broke the silence. They came from my right, from the blacksmith's house; they came just in time to stop Yrsarald from shifting. His eyes returned to their normal blue color and he turned to look for the source of the piercing sound. I followed his gaze. A woman, Hermir, the blacksmith's assistant, had burst through the door to Oengul the blacksmith's house and around the forge to where Ulfric lay in a pool of his own blood and brains.
"NO! No, no… no no no…." The young, strong woman knelt by Ulfric's torso, a trembling hand hovering over his bloodied mess of hair. "Ulfric…," she cried, her voice cracking as she spoke the dead man's name.
"Hermir?" Oengul called after her, stepping out of his house. He, along with the rest of us, soon realized what was happening. I craned my neck to gaze up at Galmar, and the look on his face confirmed it. Hermir had been Ulfric's lover. Perhaps one of many, though I had still never seen him with any woman at the palace. The woman dared caress the fractured, flattened skull of the man she obviously cared for.
I then became acutely aware of my numbing appendages, and wrapped my arms around Yrsarald, my portable radiator. I grasped Yrsarald's hand and squeezed, hard. He squeezed back. We said nothing to one another; no one at the scene uttered a single word. We simply looked on in stunned silence as Hermir openly mourned the fallen Jarl.
Despite Yrsarald's warmth, I began to shiver, and stood from the cold stone ground. I turned to gaze once more at the sizable dragon skeleton that lay in moderate anatomical position in the market square. I noticed several scales, roughly the size of my face, had fallen off of the creature before its soft tissue apparently vaporized.
I didn't notice Yrsarald standing, and jumped when he wrapped his arms around me. "You're shivering," he said quietly. "Go on back to the palace," he spoke softly into my ear. "I'll be there soon."
I nodded, silently scolding myself for not grabbing my cloak and gloves before leaving Calixto's house. Arms wrapped tightly around my robed body, I walked briskly back to the palace, back to Bird and Flavia, assuming and hoping they weren't among the five dead Yrsarald had reported.
I could feel eyes upon me as I passed through the crowd of guards and citizens, but I ignored their gazes. Don't look at me, I silently begged of them. Nothing to see. Nothing. I hurried my pace, eager for the quiet solitude and warmth of the palace.
I found Bird and Flavia in their bedroom, playing. Bird's wide grin quickly shrank when I walked through his open doorway. "Blood…," he said, noticing the bits of Ulfric that still decorated me. "Are you alright?" he asked, laying Flavia in her bassinet and walking over to me. "What's this…," he examined a tress, "what's this in your hair?"
