The Sons of Skyrim: The Lost Brother
Prologue
Skyrim, a province in the Empire of Tamriel once ruled by Nords and snow was now in flames. Snow melted from the mountains, water from the rivers and lakes were dwindling, trees became like torches, and the ground was almost all in flames.
Nobody understood what had happened, but it had all happened in the night. First, families were sound asleep. A few minutes later, almost every Nord had been called to arms to fight off the biggest threat since the Oblivion Crisis.
Dragon attacks in Skyrim were not uncommon to the people of Skyrim, but this was different, much different. In the middle of the night, it had begun to rain heavily in Whiterun. This rain was different. On the roofs it was heard as if bricks were being thrown at the building. Its strength knocked a few on their back. After a few more minutes of speeding winds and heavy downpours, a loud screeching noise echoed throughout the city. Guards took up arms and were preparing for a dragon attack, but were not prepared for what was about to happen.
The rain had an abrupt stop, but the clouds began to swirl in the night sky. It became greyer, gloomier, and the moons could not be seen in the cloudy sky. The cloud formation was very abnormal and looked as if it was pyramiding into the sky in a circle formation and the clouds slowly began twirling in the sky. The screech was heard again, but it was much louder this time, so loud that the guards standing at the ready crouched in pain covering their ears. The screech stopped once more and it became dead silent. The guards stood confused not sure what had happened. Suddenly, the door was hit by the force of a large battering ram. With each crash, pieces of wood broke off the gate. This bashing continued until the gate could sustain no longer. A final blow was dealt upon the wooden gate. The gate itself came off the hinges and flew yards in front of it with rocks and debris from the walls following. Guards were smashed by the enormous wooden gate dealing the force of a giant's blow. Some of the Whiterun guards managed to escape the flying pieces of wood and rock, but others were not so lucky.
The attacker revealed itself after passing through a large cloud of smoke. However, this dragon was different from the others. Its scales were sharp and tall, like mountains on its spine. It color looked like purple lava flowing on black rock. Its eyes were a bright green and had the look of hatred and anger. Its wings looked as if they were torn up at the end.
One of the guards managed to stand up from his crouching position, drew his bow and arrow, and launched the arrow at the dragon. The arrow broke upon impact of the dragon's skin. The dragon let out another defining screech and the guards fell to the floor once again. The dragons screech turned to a purple flame blasted upon the guards. Many ordered a full retreat out of the city, but were greeted by a wall of fire. The dragon took to the sky breathing its purple flame upon citizens and guards alike. It soared over to Dragonsreach and set it aflame. Jarl Balgruuf along with friends and guards escaped the burning wreckage by the hair of their necks. The whole city was on fire and filled with the screams of children and civilians. The dragon then flew away from the city leaving it in fire and smoke. The citizens of Whiterun took the opportunity to escape the city by pouring water on the wall of fire blocking the entrance to Whiterun and taking a pilgrimage to the nearest city.
But, the dragon wasn't done. It then moved on to Solitude, then Whinterhold, Falkreath, Markarth, Morthal, then Riften destroying the cities along with the palaces and longhouses. The dragon was trying to destroy all of Skyrim city by city.
Upon the commotion, sitting on top of the Throat of the World was Paarthurnax along with the Dragonborn. Paarthurnax was disturbed from his meditation by the screams from the holds. He listened in and also heard the screeching of the dragon.
"Dovahkiin!" he thundered, disturbing the Dragonborn from his meditation.
"What is it, something wrong?" The Dragonborn questioned.
"There is a disturbance with your fellow Nords."
"How? The civil war is over Ulfric won. Is it a riot?"
"No, worse."
"What is it?"
"Kroniidkriikein."
"Who?"
"Many years ago, during Alduin's reign, Kroniidkriikein, our youngest brother, was one of the most powerful of the dohvahs, or dragons in your tongue. Alduin feared that Kroniidkriikein would become too powerful and would eventually overthrow him. So, without warning Alduin killed Kroniidkriikein and buried him in a strong dragon tomb. As long as Alduin was alive, the magical barrier keeping Kroniidkriikein in the grave was impenetrable."
"So, when I killed Alduin in Sovngarde, it broke the barrier?"
"It took time for Kroniidkriikein to regain his strength, and when it did he began his destruction upon Tamriel once again."
"By the Nine, I've got to warn the people."
"The only place untouched by Kroniidkriikein is Windhelm. You best make your way there Dovahkiin."
The Dragonborn turned away from Paarthurnax and shouted to the sky.
"Od-ah-viing!" he shouted.
Moments later, Odahviing came, soaring from the sky and landed on the snowy carpet on top of The Throat of the World.
"I am yours to command, Dovahkiin." He said in a booming voice.
"To Windhelm, I must warn Ulfric of the dragon."
"Hop on Dovahkiin, I shall take you to Ulfric Stormcloak."
Odahviing began lifting off the ground and began soaring towards Windhelm.
After days of complete unknowing to the collapsing world going around, word from Whiterun about the attack finally reached Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Whindhelm about the dragon attack. The courier explained how the dragon had attacked Whiterun in the middle of the night and that Jarl Balgruuf sent a courier to each city to prepare for the dragon attack.
"Where are they now?" Ulfric asked.
"Last I heard they made a pilgrimage out of Skyrim, but not sure where exactly they're going." The courier replied.
"Did you see where the dragon went?"
"It began to take off north to Solitude, but that's all I could see."
"We need to warn the guards and people about this dragon you spoke of."
But, it was too late. The screams of the people of Windhelm echoed throughout the town, followed by Kroniidkriikein's screech. Ulfric grabbed his axe and stormed outside only to be greeted by his city on fire and smoldered corpses.
The Dragonborn landed Odahviing before the entrance to the city and pushed the door open.
"Good luck, Dovahkiin!" Odahviing shouted flying away from the city and into the sky.
The Dragonborn was too late half of the city on fire. He recognized an old companion who fought in the assault on Solitude. Thorin Ironshield and his small clan of warriors through everything they had at Kroniidkriikein before coming to the Dragonborn's side.
"Where you been?" Thorin shouted over the screams of the people.
"Catching beauty sleep!"
"I'll bet, well while you've been sleeping on your mountain we've been fighting this damn dragon!"
The Dragonborn drew his sword and stood guard next to Thorin and his clan. Ready in arms, they threw what they could at the dragon. Arrows, spells, sword, axe and hammer had little to no effect on the dragon. The Nords slowly began to lose their resources to the point they would begin to throw the weapons, potions, and even food. Weapons would be flung with so little accuracy, that people began to fall after being struck by the falling weapon. Chants for victory soon became screams of suffering and surrender. The Nords had no choice but to flee from Windhelm and travel south to Cyrodiil.
With a roaring loud shout the dragon screeched;
"Keizaal is for the dovah!"
The Nords quickly drew back further and further away from their homeland. The Dragonborn split from Thorin and his group and went south to Cyrodiil, while others made a journey north to Atmora, the place in which the Nords came from along with the Atmorian king Ysgramor. The Nords made their trek away from their homeland along with Imperials, Elves, Orcs, Redguards, Kahjiits, Bretons, and Argonians out of Skyrim and into the provinces throughout Tamriel. Imperials traveled in crowds to Cyrodiil. Nords traveled to either Cyrodiil or Atmora, though many rather avoid the sea back to Atmora because of the stories of The Sea of Ghosts. Khajiit went back to Elseweyr. Redguards went to Hammerfell. Bretons and Orcs went back to High Rock. The Argonians took boats to Black Marsh. Some small bands of Elves attempted to travel to Aldmeris to seek if it was truly exciting. High Elves traveled with the Aldmeri Dominion to Summerset Isles. The Wood Elves made their way to Valenwood. And the Dark Elves went to Morrowind. Though many of the races went to other provinces besides their homeland, many didn't want to risk death that was already plaguing over the pilgrims. Many began to die due to diseases, carnivorous animals, and exhaustion. Some managed to have horses, but some were not so lucky. The richest made their way to the capitols of their homeland. Nords though proven to be strong began to slowly decline in numbers just like many.
Amongst the pilgrims were the Dragonborn himself he made his way to the Imperial City and began his work as a blacksmith to earn money to buy himself a home. But, Thorin Iron-shield and his clan made their way to Bruma where their kin are thriving.
Thorin was furious with the taking of his homeland. Anger filled his body to the brim. An animal would occasionally attack the small group and Thorin would simply pummel the animal with no remorse. He would barely even clean off the blood on his face from the animal he had killed. But some of the group members relished in the animal and took anything they could use for food and clothes on the way to Bruma. Thorin's rage grew to the point he wouldn't even grab his sword to kill an animal, he would simply beat it with his steal covered fists.
Miles from Bruma, inside the province of Cyrodiil, Thorin heard the trotting of horses quickly getting louder and louder as it got closer. A loud shot was heard followed by the sound of unsheathing of a sword. Without blinking Thorin screamed to his group;
"Duck!" And they all fell to the floor narrowly missing a sword to the back of the head.
A large heard of ten bandits circled the small group of five. Thorin, leader of the group, quickly stood up with sword in his left hand and his legendary iron shield in his right. Aariel Boen, the only female of the group, stood and quickly drew an arrow from her quiver and drew it upon her bow and aimed it at one of the bandits head in seconds. Inthor, Anthor, and Thor, brothers of the group drew their axes. And Olaf, the Nordic mage, aimed his staff of elements at the bandits.
"Look who we have here. Pilgrims? Let me guess, wanderers from Skyrim? Word spread like the fire in your city." The bandit chief said circling the group on his horse with his sword in hand and pointing the edge at Thorin.
Thorin's grip tightened on his sword and his teeth tightened in anger. The very tone in which the bandit spoke of how Thorin's home had been destroyed.
"Oh, you don't like that, do you Nord?" the bandit only made Thorin's anger grow stronger. Thorin's face grew red with hatred for both the dragon and the bandit to the point where he couldn't stand it any longer.
Thorin roared with a large battle cry and leaped and talked the bandit chief off his horse onto the stone ground. Aariel fired her bow at a bandit's horse's leg making it fling the bandit off its back like a toy. The three brothers began to hack their axes and bash their shields at the bandits. The horses began to throw the bandits off their horses and onto the cold, hard stone ground. The bandit chief kicked Thorin off him and the two began tumbling and wrestling for dominance over the other. Thorin and the bandit chief made a quick haste to their weapons and clashed them against each other with sparks flying. Steel met with steel as swords and shields clinked and clashed. Thorin would duck and block each attack that came at him, but the bandit wasn't giving up either. Then Thorin grabbed the edge of his shield and bashed it at the neck of the bandit chief and with a backward swing the bandit chief was decapitated.
Thorin held the bandits head by the hair and held it up high like a trophy a roared to catch the attention of the other bandits. Inthor stopped his grueling smashing of a steel helmeted bandit's head with his own mace. With blood trickling down the weapons of each warrior except for Olaf, for he only blocked and fired spells at his attackers. Aariel undrew her bow from firing stance to look at Thorin. Thorin held the bandit chief's head up high over his head in his hand and threw it at the bandits who were beginning to back away from the clan of warriors and their fierce leader.
After the attack it became an easier trek to Bruma. But, Thorin still wanted his home back.