A DRAGON'S BEGINNING
THE MANY ADVENTURES OF ELSEBET KIND-HEART BOOK 1
EXTENDED SUMMARY
Elsebet Kind-Heart was probably the nicest person you could meet, but she sought adventure and a life away from her home in Winterhold. On her nineteen birthday, she leaves the once-great town she calls home and heads for Falkreath, planning to start far from where anyone knew her as the daughter of a retired mage and a father that ran away.
Fate works in weird ways, and she finds herself in the company of an Imperial sellsword named Risorallen, who himself ran away from home after being attacked by a werewolf several years earlier, not wanting to hurt his family. As the destined Dragonborn of prophecy, Elsebet finds herself knee-deep in adventure as everyone needs help, but only Risorallen is there to help her when she needs it.
CHAPTER 1
THERE BE DRAGONS
I brought the light to my face and smiled. He was surprised, even stunned by the pallor of my flesh, the dark hunger in my ageless eyes, and the teeth. Oh, yes, I think the teeth definitely surprised the man who could not afford to be surprised.
"I haven't fed in seventy-two hours," I explained, as I fell on him. He did not land the first blow or the last.
Elsebet Kind-Heart closed the book, tracing over the gold lettering sunken into purple leather. Immortal Blood had been on her reading list since she could remember, and she was glad she finally got around to it. She placed it in her pack, leaning back and looking at the aurora above her, the cart she was riding in jostling her around. She was alone in the carriage, save the carriage driver, and that she was glad for that. She liked being alone, lost in her thoughts.
The two moons, Masser and Secunda, lit up the night sky along with the thousands of stars that accompanied the pair. Falkreath's pine forest passed slowly as the brown mare took her closer to the hold's capital. She had just come from her home in Winterhold, wanting to make a change in the world, and decided to do that on the opposite side of the country where no one knew who she was; Falkreath. She had trudged through the snow to Windhelm so she could get a carriage, because there was no way she was walking all the way to the small town, and there were no stables in Winterhold; not since the Great Collapse that happened eight years earlier, and her mother's house had been one of the only buildings that survived.
The carriage lurched suddenly, the horse getting free from her reins and bolting away as fast as she could. Elsebet found herself over the side of the wooden wagon, her face an inch away from face planting the cobblestone road, the only thing stopping her is her dress getting caught on a piece of wood. The whistle of an arrow sounded, and she closed her eyes when the dull thud of iron meeting flesh filled her ears.
"It's empty!"
"By the Eight, Er-La, I thought you said this would be good!"
An Argonian hissed. "There was a wealthy-looking woman on board!"
"Found her!"
Her eyes snapped open, and she saw her long red hair pooling on the ground below her. Something grabbed the scruff of her neck, pulling her up roughly back onto the carriage, where a Nord shoved her onto her back.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here." He reached for her hair, taking a strand of it and twisting it between his fingers. "I've never seen hair this red before, even on a Nord."
She kicked at the bandit, and he caught her foot. He clicked his tongue as she tried to kick her foot free, but he held firm.
"Looks like we're getting lucky tonight, boys!"
The cheers of several men filled the air, and Elsebet saw three other bandits behind the one that held her foot. An Argonian, a Breton and another Nord. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.
An arrow appeared in the bandit over her's neck, blood spurting from the wound as he let go of his foot, clawing at his neck. He fell to the side and grew still, his eyes wide open. Elsebet covered her mouth to stop herself from throwing up as the three other bandits drew their weapons.
Down the road, a couple archers clad in red and brown leathers drew their bows and took aim at the bandits. They let out battle cries and charged, but they didn't get far before they fell, their blood spilling onto the cobblestone road.
This time, Elsebet leant over the side of the wagon and threw up onto the grass.
The archers ran towards her, putting their bows on their backs, several carriages that were waiting behind them following them at a walking pace. The first one that reached her held out a hand for her to hold on to while she climbed out of the wagon, and she let go once she had her two feet on solid ground.
She smiled at him. "Thank you."
"What are you doing out here by yourself?" He asked.
"I wasn't by myself." She turned and pointed at the dead carriage driver. "He was with me. Good lot that did, though."
He chuckled slightly, and she smiled again.
"I was headed for Falkreath."
He nodded. "We're heading for Helgen, which isn't too far from here. If you want you can join us, and when we get there you can rest and borrow a horse."
"Thank you, uh…"
"Hadvar."
"Elsebet."
The convoy—because that was what it was—had reached them, and Hadvar and Elsebet lagged behind the first carriage, that hold four people, two clad in blue Windhelm colours, and Elsebet realised that they were Stormcloaks. But if they were Stormcloaks, then these people were Imperial soldiers.
She'd heard from her brother that the Imperial Legion had come to Skyrim to rid it of the rebel Stormcloaks, and the siblings had agreed that the Stormcloaks were menaces and needed to be rid of. She would join the legion if she could, but she wasn't a warrior. The only weapon she knew how to use was a bow, and even that was bare-minimum. She'd only learnt how to use it in the first place was because her father had insisted she knew how to defend herself before he ran off just after the Great Collapse.
The walk to Helgen was quiet, except for the quiet chatter between the Stormcloak soldiers and a Nord in rags on the carriage in front of her. The fourth person, dressed in furs, was gagged, though she didn't know why.
When they finally got to Helgen a couple hours later, the sun had risen, and Hadvar pointed her to the inn. She thanked him and entered the inn. She sat down at one of tables and pulled out one of the books she had brought with her. After much deciding, she chose The Mystery of Princess Talara, Part 1. Along with Immortal Blood, it was on her reading list. She'd only brought books she hadn't read before, and she used her honorary membership to the College of Winterhold to get the books from the Arcanaeum. She bit her lip as she remembered the note she left the librarian.
Hey, Urag! Just borrowing some books; I'll give them back the next time I'm here! Down below is a list of books I took.
She smiled as she opened the book, remembering the reason why she got the membership. It certainly wasn't because she wanted to become a student, even though she'd sat through some of the lectures on conjuration; no, it was because she somehow always found herself on the roof of the college, or in a quiet corner of the Arcanaeum with a book, and they were tired of having her sneak through the grounds just to get somewhere high or to read. Her parents also got honorary membership, only so they didn't have to be accompanied whenever they wanted to collect their daughter.
Not even five pages in, the ground shook violently. The book fell from her hands and she gripped the table in front of her so she didn't fall from the chair she was sitting on. When the shaking stopped, she leant down and picked up her book, stuffing it into her bag. She didn't want to lose it; she needed to give it back to Urag once she goes back to Winterhold.
She stood up and, making sure her pack was secured to her side, made her way out of the inn.
She wished she hadn't. Because, sitting on top of the tower in the middle of Helgen, was a dragon as black as night. It opened its giant maw and let out a cry into the sky, making the sky turn from blue to a dark grey, and flaming meteors started falling from the skies. She stood, mesmerised, only moving when one of the meteors fell onto the inn.
She ran away from the destroyed building, her arms over her head to shield herself from the flying rubble. She collided with something, and she was sent sprawling to the floor. Cuts stung her palms as they scraped against the cobble road, and people rushed around her, townsfolk running away from the dragon that was roaring above them and Imperial soldiers shooting arrows and spells at the beast from the deepest parts of oblivion.
Someone grabbed her arms from behind her and lifted her up onto her feet. She spun around to see Hadvar grabbing her hand and pulling her out of the middle of the road. His grip was warm in hers, and the arrows in the quiver she hid under her red cloak knocked against each other as Nord pulled her away from the chaos.