This is a prequel to my unfinished story, Dragonblood: The Return. That story follows the events of the Dragonborn becoming the Emperor of Tamriel after Titus Mede II is assassinated.
This story follows the Dragonborn and other important characters in the Skyrim Civil War with how I wrote it. If you read whatever of Dragonblood: The Return has out, then you probably already know how this war will end.
However, I'm not really looking to sympathize or criminalize either side of the conflict; I just want to write a prequel that is canon with my original, and captures the stories of both sides of the war. So I trust that you all are mature enough to remain idle, and not start a random argument with me about Stormcloaks vs. Imperials.
I will also have another prequel, which will be a sequel to this one. It will follow the Dragonborn and his fight to stop the Dragons.
Well, enough chit-chat, time for the story.
4E 199
My journey began with a war.
A young man, dressed in heavy Imperial steel armor and an officer's helmet tucked under his arm, was walking calmly down a dirt and rock road that was shaded by the light fog that came from the high mountains of Jerall. He had skin short black hair, a face clean of facial hair, and a light muscle build on him.
Of course, it wasn't a war at the time, but rather a scare.
On his walk, the young man would listen to the sounds of nature, as he crossed the border from Cyrodiil into Skyrim.
Twenty three years ago, before I was even born, there was a battle at the city of Markarth. During the Great War, the native Breton people had taken the city and claimed it to be their own. Their reign would go on for only two years until it went downhill for them.
He smiled when he saw a rabbit run across the road, and a deer feeding off of a berry bush to the side.
A young Jarl of Eastmarch had raised a militia and retaken the city through brute force. Eventually, the Empire came marching to the gates, asking that they would reclaim the city to the Empire as it once was. The young Jarl refused, and demanded that it would only happen if they allowed the worship of Talos again.
The wind blew in his face, giving him a relaxing feel.
The Empire couldn't do that, for it would jeopardize their peace with the ruthless Third Aldmeri Dominion. The Jarl was displeased, and every day he would kill surrendered Bretons, and tortured and raped natives so they could give up names of those who have fled. He even killed anyone who was a non-Nord to pressurize the Empire into agreeing with their terms.
He came upon a forest of pine trees, which effectively colored the landscape.
The Imperial force had to lie to them to get them to stop. Eventually, the young Jarl and his men were forced out of the city, and were imprisoned. All these years later, and he has returned to be the Jarl of Eastmarch. Tensions were now higher than ever.
He had walked past a Khajiit caravan, and he had bought some things off of them. A canteen of water, a new blanket, and some rationed food.
My name is Arminius Constantine. I am only eighteen years old, and I have traveled to the land of Skyrim as order of being assigned to the fourth legion.
The young man kept on walking, sack over his shoulder, and drinking out of his canteen.
I am fresh out of officer school; so for the young man I am, I am a Legate. Though I have proven myself to be very skillful with the sword and shield and defeated my peers in mock combat, I have never actually killed a living being. That part of the experience wouldn't escape me for long, as there may be another war on the Empire's hands.
The Legate cast himself off to the side of the road, and sat on a rock, resting for a moment.
What is to happen to me in this upcoming war? Where will I go?
He took another sip out of his canteen.
The story about the young Jarl and Markarth made me want to visit that place again..I could probably evade orders for a little while and visit there first. I wish to see what has become of it.
He got up, putting away his canteen into his sack personal items, and continuing on. Eventually he reached a sign that pointed out direction for a fork in the road. The one pointing left said Markarth, and the other pointing right had said Solitude.
I had heard that the city of Markarth was built in a mountain hundreds of years ago by the long extinct Dwemer.
He thought long and hard about which direction he would take.
I'm young, and I let my rebellious nature get the best of me.
He took the road going left, which would lead him to the ancient city of Markarth.
Little did I know, it was one of my worst mistakes.
A young Nord girl, no older than 18, had just walked out of the famous Palace of the Kings. She had on a smile on her face, golden hair, brown eyes, and some blue robes that a healer would wear.
Today was the day that I have chosen where my loyalties lay. I am now a healer for the upcoming Nordic Separatist Army, or to be known as the 'Stormcloaks.'
She went off and talked with other Nords who had on a set of blue armor, which was very similar to hold guards. Some hit on her, some showed respect, and some even showed her tricks with their weaponry.
I have never picked up a weapon in my life, and I am never planning on doing so. I only ever wanted to be a healer, to give life on the field where it needs it.
She backed away with a chuckle on her face, denying another young Nord man who had offered her a pint of mead later that night.
My name is Lilija; I am a daughter of the Snow-Shod family in Riften. When I heard that the Jarl of Eastmarch was raising an army to try and break free of the Empire's hold on Skyrim, I grew excited and left quickly to join. My father and mother were both happy to see me so eager to serve my people, but my older brother, Asgeir, felt different. It's strange, I have heard my brother call himself a proud Nord, but he refuses to serve under the proud Nord who is the Jarl of Eastmarch? Maybe my father, who was a veteran of the Great War, didn't appeal to him as much as he did me. Or maybe it was that Imperial woman he was seeing.
The young healer had made her way out of the snow covered court yard, and into the slums known as the 'Gray Quarter.' She walked through it, noticing all the dark elves that were going about their business. Some were talking to each other, and others were sick and on the ground, coughing their lungs out. She didn't know why she decided to go through there. The buildings were damn near falling apart, the Dunmer there were sick, and they were living off of minimum wage and high taxes.
Coming here, I sometimes wonder what my brother really thought. In Riften, we were used to having many different races minding their own business, without an inch of a dystopia at their hands. Windhelm was a very different story, however. Seeing all these dark elves being forced weight upon, being segregated and having to live in these conditions; all under the order of the Jarl of Eastmarch.
She observed a scuffle going on, where a young dark elf girl was being harassed by several town guards.
"Please, I don't have the septims to pay to the Jarl!" She begged, desperately holding onto her basket of personal belongings. One of the guards, a big gruff man with his face covered by a helmet, had pushed her back.
"What do you mean, you don't have the septims?!" he yelled at her, using his strong hands to forcefully push her back. As she was forced back, another guard behind her caught her and forced her forward. The third guard, who was smaller than the other two, had chuckled.
"Please," she said. The first guard knocked the basket out of her hand, and it hit the floor with the contents spilling out of it. The guard behind her knocked her down on her face. Her face squinted at the pain, and her tightly shut eyes formed tears out of them. The three guards laughed and left her lying in the mud, crying.
Lilija could only watch, for if she tried to help her, she could be shunned by her other Nord brothers. It really bothered her to see this kind of abuse, even if it wasn't one of her kind.
Maybe when this war is over, I could come here to try and make their lives better, if we don't already force them out of Skyrim by then. Was this what my brother saw in the newly rising Stormcloaks? Is that why he never wanted to join?
So I introduced a couple of characters. A couple more will be coming the next chapter, so stay tuned.