His eyes were tired. His back stiff, his hands tense. Not good, he thought.
The rain trickled down his forehead. His hood was soaked. His bow was dripping, the string was soft. The arrow knocked, ready to be drawn and fired. The water started to impair his vision. Not good.
His prey was forty yards away. His stomach rumbled loudly. His steps were heavy. He sighed.
Lightning lit the sky, and a crack followed a second after, startling the deer ahead of him. No… The deer was spooked and dashed away. NO!
In a moment he sprinted after the deer, his powerful legs carried him through the tall grass with a grace and finesse only elves could match. He weaved between trees desperately following the deer. No matter his speed the deer had a forty yard advantage and two more legs.
He lost the deer. He picked up the tracks but they were hard to follow. Deer don't run, they jump, they bounce making the tracks wide apart and unpredictable.
He bit his cheek, then his tongue. He didn't like swearing but he made an exception. He whispered it, to note waste any more energy. He stowed his arrow in his quiver and placed his bow in its hold against the quiver.
His name was Ashr. He was a Redguard. A hunter. And sometimes, a mercenary. And he was cursed.
He made his way back to his small cave. It was on the southern border of Skyrim, it was shallow and high against a hill. It was a good vantage point to see any that approach, although few ever did. Why would they? It was a boring mountain too steep too climb, the rocks too jagged, the cave too high.
From there he could see Riften at the end of the lake. It was hazy but he could make out Goldenglow estate in the centre. His cave was on no map, there was no path and nothing there for any living thing to care for. So he was alone. He decided to sleep.
Ashr woke maybe an hour later. The sound of a roar, and a crackling. Not fire, there's a hiss. Lightning. A spellcaster was close. He peered over the small cliff down to the trees and he was almost struck by a blinding stream of light, he dodged left as it clipped the cliff face sending shards of broken rocks back.
Ashr stood up and retrieved his bow, quiver and bag and turned back to the cliff. He was welcomed by another round of lightning that shot over his head to the cave roof. Rocks fell to the floor crushing his lantern and bed roll inside. That's highly inconvenient.
He turned back to where the lightning came from, a powerful mage must be casting these spells to reach such a distance. He leapt down ten yards and rolled into a slide down the slope. He'd find the home wrecker soon enough.
He followed the noise past rocks and trees, two mages were fighting a bear. Why are two magi all the way out here? He drew an arrow and knocked it to his bow. The bear looked as if it was losing. Ashr liked animals, and he wasn't fond of spell casters, not many Redguards are. He plucked some grass and let the wind catch it out his hand. He saw which direction it blew, and he drew his bow. His form perfect, left hand loose, back tensed tight, right arm in line with the arrow. He released. The arrow took flight and landed in the bears neck. A perfect shot, the bear moaned and fell. As long as the magi stopped their onslaught Ashr could eat.
Now, friend or foe? He drew another arrow and held his bow ready. The magi were twenty yards away yet they had not seen their rescuer.
'Hullo?' One shouted, Imperial?
Ashr said nothing. He had no need to disclose his position. Not to these cowards. They were dressed in robes, covering armour underneath. No way to tell what the armour was, so no way to tell what their allegiance was.
'We would like to thank our kind hero,' the same man shouted. 'We mean you no harm, please.'
Ashr waited. Eventually the two imperials left. Ashr had seen enough needless death in his long life.
He could not return to his home in the cave, it was ruined. He had all his belongings so he decided to travel to Riverwood. It was a days walk to get there, so he ran.
It was past dark when he arrived in Riverwood, he'd always liked this little village. It was small, and perfect for invasion. Three strong warriors could overtake this place with ease, maybe just Ashr alone. Probably.
The folk here were kind. Far too kind, they had a small outpost with three sleep rolls for strangers and travellers to use which was watched by the village guard. It was free and the guards would bring food to the hungry. Ashr didn't oblige, he'd rather earn food than it be given.
Ashr made for the tavern, his footsteps felt heavy. He entered "The Sleeping Giant" and was greeted by warmth of a fire pit in a large room. He moved left to a Nord behind a bar stocked with cheese and wine.
'I'd like some food,' Ashr said. He bought cooked goat meat and carrots. It was all he could afford. The Nord was called Orgnor, he spoke with other patrons about Dragon sightings, and stories of Helgen being destroyed. Ashr kept his hood up, but he listened as he feasted.
'I heard the Dragon was heading for Whiterun, hope they're all right,' Orgnor stated.
'I don't know, I overheard the Guard saying there was fire at the Western Watchtower. Some big lights too,' a patron said.
Ashr was a loner. He had been alive a very long time and he was tired. He had been a part of big changes in Tamriel, he had seen many things. His tanned olive skin was burnt and scarred. His silver eyes always moving, always checking where the exits were, scanning the room for threats. His back was broad from years of archery and fighting. His legs were long and strong from running every day.
'I know that bow…' a voice whispered behind Ashr. He stayed still as to not attract attention. But he placed his hand on his dagger at his hip.
Footsteps grew closer. 'I know… that bow.' The voice's pitch became lower. Ashr sighed and spun round quickly, drawing his elven dagger and stood ready to fight. Nord, shocking. The nord held a pint of ale in one hand and a butter knife in the other. 'You!' he exclaimed, 'you- you killed my 'ens!'
Ashr lowered his guard and sheathed his dagger. 'No, friend, I did not,' he explained.
'Don't- don't- don't you lie t'me! M-m-hmm.' The man slurred and made false starts, he held the knife all the way out and thrusted his hips towards Ashr. Ashr simply stepped to the left and watched the inebriated Nord fall face first into the stool, breaking it upon impact.
Ashr sighed. The man was now unconscious, dribbling on the floor with splinters of wood scattered around his head. 'Tell me,' Ashr addressed the rest of the inn, 'you don't seem surprised or angered by this?'
A woman replied, 'He does this a lot'
'His chickens die a lot?'
'Yes, because he gets drunk and kills them to eat, he always craves chickens when he drinks. Then he'll forget it when he wakes up tomorrow. Then he'll buy a new chair.'
'Why would he buy a chair?' Ashr pondered the reasoning and thought of nothing.
'Because that chair he just smashed was his, I take his chairs from his home when he's drunk because he always smashes one when he gets angry about his chickens. It's cheaper for me. And easier explaining what he's done.'
Ashr smiled. Then he left. He didn't want to face any possible hassle with the guard.
His body was tired. More than usual, it needed rejuvenation. He decided to seek out the Greybeards again.
Ashr had the face and appearance of a young man. But his eyes were old and had seen many wars and many winters.
Ashr was born in Hammerfell, he had fought in the Great Civil War hundreds of years ago. He was a scout, he felt that none would survive the war. So he sought out the great Dragons. He begged Alduin the World Eater to help.
'This is your world too! How can you sit by and watch this?! If the Elves or the Nords win they will hunt you down and destroy you all! The Daggerfall do not hold the Dragonborn so one of them must!'
'The concerns of your pathetic kind are not shared by us.'
Ashr stood atop the throat of the world, surrounded by Dragons and a small party of his companions. The Dragons all sat perched waiting for the pointless conversation to end.
'You fools! Why would you not do battle when you have no fear of death?!'
'The Dragonborn is out there, he could kill us.'
'He could be dying, or a child, or unaware! So you can't be slain!' Ashr cried.
'We still feel death when we fall in battle.' Alduin replied bluntly.
Ashr swore at them, 'Pathetic! You have no honour or place in this world if you do not fight for it!'
Alduin raised his head 'You would call us pathetic when you cannot even fight your own battles!' He paused, and then spoke slowly. 'You believe us to be almighty simply because we cannot die. But we can die in battle. Now so shall you.'
Alduin and all the Dragons raised their head.
They all bellowed in Dragon tongue at the team, one by one they burst, the sound and energy was too much, they died instantly. There was nothing left. Except Ashr, he refused to die this way. Not by some measly Dragon council.
He stood against the waves and felt stronger every second he stood. He felt as if he could fight the Dragons and win by himself.
Eventually the Dragons stopped. Alduin spoke, 'Now you cannot fall, but you will only die in battle. But it will never be an easy death.'
The dragons one by one spread their great wings and pounded against the ground. One by one they all flew into the sky leaving Ashr surrounded by blood stained snow. Ashr felt strong. He turned, and ran down the mountain back to Cyrodil to end the war.