Hey guys! I am aware that I am in the midst of another Spyro and Cynder story, but I'm one of those people that when they think of something, they need to do it or it is gone forever. This is the making of a new story that features Spyro and Cynder, but it is also my first X-Over, which is The Elder Scrolls. Once again, I'm sorry if there are people who really liked the other story, but I wanted to try something new. I will, however, keep working on my other story as well. I hope you enjoy!
The wind howled throughout the land, releasing a refreshing, cool breeze over the province of Skyrim, as the sun set towards the west. An aura of orange, red, and purple was shot across the sky, blanketing the land in its brilliant colors. The city of Whiterun was particularly busy, even at this hour. Citizens were walking in and out of the Ironmaiden, a small, little shop that sold weapons and armor, with a forge attached to the side. The everyday bicker on whether the battle-borns or Grey-manes were better. The companions were out securing the city, as always, along with the imperial guards. Several couriers ran around the city, delivering news of Alduins' death and the Dragonborns return to High Hrothgar. No one, however, knew the name of the Dragonborn. He was known throughout all of Skyrim, yet he was a stranger, being able to use "The Voice", which is dragon tongue.
High Hrothgar, the sanctuary of the Greybeards, the mentors of the Dragonborn, was placed right below the peak of the tallest mountain in Skyrim known as, "The Throat of the World". The breeze quickened as the elevation of the mountain got higher, which blew snow across the massive slopes of the mountain. The very top of the mountain, was home to the leader of the four Greybeards who live in High Hrothgar: Paarthurnax, a dragon elder that has allied with the Greybeards, centuries before.
After slaying Alduin and returning from Sovngarde, the Dragonborn did, in fact, return to High Hrothgar for further training in the "Way of the Voice", as the Greybeards called it. The Dragonborn practically lived there now. He had a room, which was fitted with various ornaments and weapons planted on the walls, and he was allowed admittance to the Great Table, where the Greybeards would eat, negotiate, and dispute of many different troubles in the worlds, such as the great surplus of giants and in most rare occasions: dragons. Though Alduin was killed, dragons still terrorize this land, and the Greybeards were determined to find out why.
Arngeir, one if the four Greybeards, was atop the mountain, waiting, ever so patiently, for the return of Paarthurnax. Meditating to the many words of the dragon tongue. His eyes shot open from his mediation, revealing dark brown eyes with small cataracts within them. He stood up, and sheathed each of his arms in the opposite sleeve, like he always did when standing.
Paarthurnax returns. Arngeir thought to himself. A few moments after this, Paarthurnax, the dragon elder of the voice, landed on his personal throne atop a curved wall with the Dragonrend word of power carved into it. The snow stung Arngeirs' face, but he accepted it. His affairs, were much more important than that of a cold face.
"Arngeir," Paarthurnax began, " what can I offer to the presence of yourself. Arngeir bowed in respect, and raised himself when Paarthurnax signaled him with his paw.
"Great, and powerful Paarthurnax. The fall of Alduin is done, the Dragonborn had returned to Skyrim, and the world if at peace… mostly."
"Mostly?" Paarthurnax asked with a raised eye-ridge.
"The dragons, are still terrorizing this land. The very thing that we were meant to stop. We have failed you." Arngeir bowed again.
"No, Arngeir. That task was the Dovahkiin's alone. If he cannot fulfill this task, he will have failed you." arngeir raised his head in bewilderment.
"Master. Forgive my impudence, but the Dragonborn has done all he could to stop this tragedy. I'm sure that if there was something that could be done about this, he would do it. I trust him. Unlike all my other students, he has shown great promise and responsibility."
"I will indulge your comment, and say you are correct. He has shown great promise towards you in the past, but what of the future. If the Dovahkiin cannot continue his quest... if he is physically, mentally, even emotionally incapable of doing the task, of ridding this world of it's dangers… will you still trust his allegiance?" Arngeir thought for a long while, then came to the conclusion that he was right. If the Dragonborn could not fulfill this task, what was to say he could do any task if the time came.
"I will call him to the Great Table, and speak to him directly of this. Do you have any objection?" Paarthurnax shook his head, "I do not think it will do any harm, but the time will come when he will need to make a choice. All though I do not know when or why, it will most definately be difficult." Arngeir bowed once more, and left down the trail back to the sanctuary where the Dragonborn awaited his talk.
The Dragonborn was in his room, laying on his bed, sharpening a bone dagger which he got from one of Alduins' claws. He gently rubbed a whetstone against the smooth, curved surface of the dagger, until he could see his reflection. His name was Balder, which means 'Prince' in Nordic. It was true Balder was a Nord, but really he is from the province of Cyrodil. His family was poor, and thought that Balder was a miracle. ' A prince from the heavens' his father would say, and this is how he got his name. His parents died shortly after Balder was ran out of Cyrodil and was later captured by Imperials at the border of Skyrim. That was the day Alduin 'saved' him from certain death by execution, and his destiny to destroy him began. Balder was a dark-skinned man in his mid thirties. He had long, black hair that fell to his shoulders, and also two scars on his face: One on his cheek, and one across his baby blue eye. Balder had soft, linen clothes on. His Dwarven armor, made out of the finest gold and silver found in the snowy tunnels of Altmer, the Dwarven city.
A faint creek was heard at his door and, fully alerted, he shot up and looked at the doorway to his room to see Arngeir standing there. Balder sheathed his dagger in his belt.
"Master." He said as he bowed.
"Rise, Dragonborn. Your presence is requested at the Great Table. We need to talk about something… urgent. Meet me there when you are ready." Arngeir then walked down the hallway in the opposite direction of Balder's' room. Balder quickly grabbed his cloak off his table, on the left side of the room, and followed Arngeir down the hallway. Balder soon got to the main hall. It was almost as cold as it was outside, maybe even more, but Balder was accustomed to it, as well as the others. A great statue of Jurgen Windcaller, the founder of the way of the voice, was placed in between the two front doors that led out to the trail back down to civilization. Balder walked into the room of the Great Table and to his surprise, Arngeir was the only one in there. The other Greybeards weren't called there, which means it had to be important.
"Please, sit." Balder did as he was told and sat in the nearest chair to him. Arngeir was sitting in the chair across from him.
"I, just spoke with Paarthurnax. And he thinks that you are… incapable of completing your task to destroy the remaining dragons."
"I am capable. There hasn't been one single attack sense Alduin died. Caravans, sure, but cities?" Balder said with hurt and anger in his voice.
"It does not matter what they are attacking. They must be completely stopped." Arngeir said with a calm voice. Even when he's angry he has learned how to control it.
"What do I do Arngeir? It's not like they are just springing out of the ground. They are coming from somewhere."
"One, Dragonborn, they were springing out of the ground, and two, you're right. They are coming from somewhere, and I know exactly where from. Just not from who." Balder leaned forward confused, and amazed. What could possibly be sending them here?
"Where Arngeir?" Arngeir smiled and pulled out a map from his pocket, and unfolded it.
"This map shows a land far to the south of here. Far beyond the borders of Tamriel, and any other land known to us. The ravens. They have told me that they have seen who has been sending dragons. Who has been attacking the land even where they are. Though I do not know the name, I do know one fact. And that is that the dragon is a purple dragon." Balders' eyes lit up with bewilderment.
"What? A purple dragon? That's not possible."
"Not here no. But in this land we speak of, everything is possible. they even speak our language fluently." Balder rubbed his eyes and leaned back, slouching lazily in his chair.
"What do you want me to do?" He asked after leaning forward again awaiting a response.
"I, we, need you to go there, and negotiate an agreement with this dragon. If he refuses, then you will have to kill him. And any others who stand in the way. This war must end, once and for all. Use extreme caution. There are Nordic cultures, the ravens tell me, that are located there. And they are also at a war against one another."
"I will return with an agreement, or a head. I promise you Arngeir."
"Good. Do not let us down. You horse awaits you outside." Balder got up and bowed his final respects before leaving. He exited the room and came to face master Wulfgar.
"Go with peace." He whispered. Even the whisper hurt Balders' ears, for the other Greybeards voices were too strong. Balder bowed in respect, as did master Wulfgar. Balder exited the sanctuary to find his horse, Namaste, waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. Balder placed saddlebags full of supplies over Namaste's back and mounted him. They rode down the trail to the towns beneath, occasionally running into wolves or a stray mammoth.
"This land will be free. The purple dragon will die!" Balder said as he rode south, toward the entrance to Cyrodil.