Here we go, my First TES story. and the first story to come from me in the past six years. I hope you don't mind what I'm doing with it... I'm adding to the world while altering it to try and keeping it balanced enough to where it doesn't break in half. I don't think this was ready to post but I'm trying to get better, I understand a lot of this first bit is Word for word... Unfortunately I've played the game enough to nearly have the dialogue of the first thirty minutes of the game memorized, and furthermore I apologize if it seems like this chapter is a little bland. Comments and Critics welcome, please keep flames to yourself(I don't mind raging at plot twists as long as you don't go overboard), I wouldn't do it to you.
I'd like to thank my soon to be Wife for being patent with me as I wrote this, as well as for her help in future chapters. My good Friends and talented partners Stormwolf77415, Sheppard and Haygood of Sheppard studios, and John Storm. As well as my thanks to HellomynameisEd (yes thats his handle) for his input he gave me several months ago when I was planning this story.
I hope you enjoy the story.
The Raging Winter.
Chapter one, Winged Darkness.
The sounds of horses bleating, snorting, trotting as well as the sound of wagon wheels grinding against their axels roused the large Argonian from his unwilling sleep. His first thought was, where was he, and how long was he unconscious. A dull throb in his head told him he had been struck as he brought his hands up to cradle his head only to find himself bound.
The human in front of him noticed that he was awake decided to get his attention, "Hey, you, Your finally awake." he started. He had sandy blond hair fair skin and wore cloth fur combination armor with a blue tunic. The armor of the Stormcloak rebels, "You were trying to cross the boarder right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there."
The Argonian remained silent having no real reason to speak he just shifted to where he was a little more comfortable but still hunching over to conceal his true height.
The fore mentioned thief really didn't like his position all too well snapped back at man, "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. The Empire was nice and lazy." he just shook his head, "If they hadn't been looking for you. I could have stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell." then he turned to the Argonian. "You there... You're a Frost-scale right?" The Argonian's jaw tightened as he nodded slightly, "You and me… we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now thief." The fighter interrupted.
"Shut up back there." The driver called back clearly annoyed with the conversation that the prisoners were having.
The thief just continued directing his attention to the well dressed and gagged man to Iskar's immediate right, "What's wrong with him, huh?
"Watch your tongue!" Spat the fighter, angered at the rather blatant disrespect for the man, "Your speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the TRUE High king."
The Argonian continued to remain silent figuring it would be a better alternative to provoking the famed murderer, or his men. He had learned of the Stormcloaks from information that came through the camps. The last thing he needed was to be executed prematurely, granted he knew that's where they were headed because the Empire had Ulfric bound and gagged in this very cart. The civil war would soon draw to a close and the providence would see stability again… at least until the Dominion decide its time for another attempt to bend all of Tamrial to its will.
A few moments after the hostile exchange of words the thief's eyes widened in realization, "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion." Even more so, the facts hit him like an anvil was being dropped from the throat of the world, "But if they captured you… Oh gods where are they taking us?"
"I don't know where we're headed, but Soverngarde awaits." The fighter closed his eyes thinking of the halls of valor.
"If that's what you want Nord, you can have it." The Argonian sighed speaking for first time, "I just want to hold my son in my arms again. And too see my clan again." his mind drifted to his son, who was turning eight this year staying with his grandmothers.
The Thief interrupted those pleasant thoughts. "No this can't be happening. This isn't happening."
"Hey horse thief. What village are you from?" the Stormcloak asked clearly annoyed that his reeve was interrupted.
"Why should you care?"
The fighter continued, "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."
"It's true. Any warrior's last should be as such." The northern Argonian hissed out in agreement. "Even for a Frost-scale."
"Rorikstead." the boy uttered, "I'm from Rorikstead."
They all looked up to see the walled gate of a village, a guard shouted to the man that was leading the convoy on horseback, "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"
"Good lets get this over with." The aging Imperial shot back at the guard as they trotted though the gate into the village.
"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynerith, Akatosh." the boy prayed, "Divines, please help me."
The fighter growled slightly as the General started to speak to a high elf mounted on a horse with her entourage, "Look at him, General Tullius the military governor." he spat, "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him, damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."
"Not all elves are bad, or against you." The Argonian grumbled afterward muttering something along the lines of 'Racist bastard'
The fighter just glared back into the Argonian's eyes, a glare that was returned with equal or greater force before the human backed down, "This is Helgan, I use to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." He reminisced, "Funny, when I was a boy the Imperial walls and towers use to make me feel so safe."
The Argonian looked to a family watching the procession from their porch, "Who are they Daddy? Where are they going?" the son asked.
"You need to go inside, little cub." his father beckoned.
"Why? I want to watch the solders." the son countered.
"Inside the house, now." the father commanded.
The wagons started to pull to a stop, "Get these prisoners out of the carts! Move it!" a commanding voice boomed.
"Why are we stopping?" the thief asked scared.
The fighter only sighed, "Why do you think? End of the line." The wagons came to a complete halt, "Let's go. It isn't polite to keep the gods waiting."
The men rose from their seats and the Thief started to ramble off his innocence, "No! Wait! We're not rebels!"
"Face your death with some courage, thief."
"You got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"
"I don't think they'll listen boy." The Frost-scale uttered, "They have an agenda to keep."
And indeed they did, the captain an Imperial woman started to shout orders, "Step up to the block when we call your name. One at a time."
The fighter sighed, "The Empire loves their dammed lists."
"Give them some credit Rebel." The Frost-scale hissed lightly, "At least they're organized, and at least they know your name."
This deeply insulted the fighter, but before he could retort he cut off when the Imperial Lieutenant started to list off names, "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." as called, the rogue Jarl steps up to the block.
The other Nord stood proudly, "It has been an honor Jarl Ulfric." he spoke pride lacing every word.
Next up was Ralof of Riverwood. Ralof, I'm going to have to remember that. The Argonian thought to himself as the man in question walked to the block. The thief started to shake slightly, he was fixing to bolt and he knew it. "Stay your feet boy." he whispered to the boy.
"Lokir of Rorickstead." The Lieutenant called.
The boy snapped, "No I'm not a Rebel! You can't do this!" The Argonian grabbed him by the tunic to try and keep him from running. But the thief just whipped around and drove his elbow into the frost-scale's snout dazing him a little throwing his balance off, and then legging it to gates in a vain attempt to escape. The attempt was quickly put down by the keen eyed Imperial Archers who each put an arrow into his back. A cowardly tactic in his opinion but its not like it mattered at this moment.
"Bloody fool…" the Argonian hissed as he stood back up, to his full height this time. He was a few inches taller than some of the soldiers there. He was about Six foot two weighing about two hundred pounds, and his physique wasn't lean but it wasn't bulky either. One would guess that most of his mass was muscle. Most of his scales were a grayish green almost white, the plumage on the crown of his head was also a dull white, two horns sprouted out from either side. Scars across his snout, and left eye added to his already rather mildly savage appearance.
"Are you alright?" The Lieutenant asked concerned for the mistakenly condemned soul.
"Hadvar!" The captain scolded, making him get on with his duty.
Hadvar sighed, "Who are you? Where are you from?" he asked, "You're not on any of our lists. You're not like any other Argonian I've ever met."
The Argonian tilted his head down a little to look Hadvar straight in the eyes, "Iskar, Ranger of the Raging Winter clan. Currently residing in Whiterun hold." His introduction was short, but the truth of his cultural heritage confused and surprised several Stormcloaks and Imperials alike. He was a member of one of the Frost-scale clans, they were as neutral as Whiterun in Skyrim, yet he was bound like a rebel, "As for the latter comment, I'm part of a community of Argonians native to Skyrim and parts of Highrock, Frost-scales" Iskar's calm demeanor was almost unsettling, like there was more to him that what appeared to be. "Several of our clans been roaming Skyrim for centuries, even fought along side the Imperial armies in the war against the Dominion."
Hadvar didn't know what to do, "Captain, he's not on the list and he belongs to one of Clans …" he explained being sure to recognize Iskar's social status with the utmost respect, "Killing him may bring trouble."
"Or it would send Whiterun and those lizard clans, a message that they need to make up their minds." The captain sneered maliciously, "He goes to the block, unless the general says otherwise."
The Lieutenant winced, "By your order captain… follow the captain comrade, nice and easy." again instead of 'prisoner' Hadvar recognized Iskar as a friend. Iskar smiled weakly didn't fuss he just complied and followed the rather ill tempered glory seeking imperial to the crowd of condemned Stormcloaks, to which the General was chastising Ulfric for his crimes and his fame in equal measure.
"Humans…" Iskar muttered in Jel as the general ended his rant and turned his attention the lone Argonian in the group and stepped closer just as one of the Stormcloaks looses his head.
"I never thought I'd see an Argonian Frost-scale bound among this rabble." Tullius started on Iskar, "Let alone one of the Raging Winter. Tell me how did you get here?"
The Frost-scale just looked that the Imperial with a somewhat neutral expression, "Happenstance, General. I was heading home from the mine at Darkwater crossing when I stumbled into that ambush." he told his tale, "I had no way of knowing."
Tullius ran his hand though his hair and sighed slightly though his graying hair, "Of course you didn't." he whispered looking to the other prisoners, "Executing you would only anger the Winters which is something I'm not intent on doing." pausing a moment take a breath, "I watched Tal-Kar fall on the battlefield, I'm not going to spit on that sacrifice by staining a Legion blade with the blood of his kin… Cut him loose!"
They all hesitated a moment, staring at the Tullius, who quickly became impatient with his soldiers inaction just shook his head and cut the binds off the Argonian himself. "You have my thanks General Tullius." giving a deep nod stepping to the side facing the crowd as Ulfric was ushered to the block.
Once he was down to his knees Iskar's blood all of a sudden ran cold as he heard a deep repeating 'whooom'ing' sound echoed on the wind. His fears were further confirmed followed by a sudden ominous roar as a massive black winged creature landed atop the tower it's blood red eyes peering down upon the crowd. "What in Oblivion!?" Tullius shouted his heart feeling terror upon seeing the physical embodiment of fear and death.
A handful of Stormcloaks shouted 'Dragon' before they started to scramble for any cover they could find.
"Dovah…" Iskar whispered, fear and courage filled his heart in equal measure.
"Fus Ro… DAH!" The dragon shouted blasting the hapless and stunned headsman into the ground turning him into a bloody smear across the ground and sending dirt, debris and anyone unlucky enough to get caught in the blast flying several feet, Iskar included. After about a moment, the winged terror released another yet indistinguishable shout, the sky tore open and started to rain fire and brimstone.
"Fuck my luck." The Argonian spat, trying to stand up, as the entire town erupted into chaos. Dazed and disoriented he lost all sense of the situation; he honestly thought all of this was a nightmare.
"Hey…" a voice called to him, he barely heard it the first time over the sounds of explosions and crumbling stone. "Oi Argonian!" called the voice again only it was much closer this time, Iskar looked to his right and saw Ralof running towards him, "Come on git up!" he shouted at the semi-conscious Argonian, pulling him to his feet, "The gods are not going to give us another chance!"
Stumbling and staggering, Iskar made his way to the tower the Stormcloaks where holed up in. The moment the door slammed shut he dropped to a knee to get his bearings while the rebels squabbled amongst themselves. Iskar knew they had to escape the town before it got completely destroyed. "We got to move, NOW!" he heard one Nords shout, not particularly listening to who it was.
Ralof gave Iskar's shoulder a hard pat, "Come on friend." and headed up the tower in attempt to find a way though.
Not exactly getting the plan the Argonian asks, "What are we going to do when we reach the top? Jump?"
Ralof had to admit that he didn't know, "I don't know, but we'll think of something."
Iskar swore he heard something clawing up the side tower, be assumed it was the dragon from how heavy the sound was. And the moment they reached the second level the wall exploded in ward. Half burying a rebel in rubble. "Yol…
"He's going to…" Iskar starts as Ralof shoves him back.
"GET BACK!" the Nord shouts as the dragon releases its flame upon the helplessly pinned rebel roasting him alive. His pained screams gurgled and died leaving a blackened and charred corpse.
"Arkay, rest your soul." The Argonian muttered.
As Iskar prayed for the recently deceased, Ralof franticly searched for a way around before looking to the breach in the wall and the burning inn across the way. "There's no way though! You're going to have to jump!"
"How did I know that you were going to say that?!" the Frost-scale spat.
"Don't be a smart ass, lizard!" the Nord snapped back, "Just jump!" Instead of arguing the rather insane lack of logic of the decision, he actually makes the leap clearing several feet and hit's the crumbling floor with a roll. Once on his feet and standing the floor caved in bring bringing him unwillingly down as well, he crash landed on a smoldering dresser, completely pulverizing it.
Once the Argonian shook himself out of his daze and got up he continued to move thought the inn. Flames licking his scales, embers burning holes in his burlap tunic and pants. The heat didn't bother him much, it was the dry air and smoke getting to him as he found the door.
As he exits the inn, he saw Hadvar and one of the other villagers his right, but to his left he saw a young boy trying to run from the dragon as it landed, he watched the boy trip, 'He isn't going to make it!' without a second thought he broke into a sprint passing two men as he did. With his hands unbound he able to do something, he slid near the boy as he suddenly changed direction, grabbing the back of his shirt and drags him behind the burning remains of a house as the dragon released it's flame. The boy escaped harm, Iskar wasn't as lucky however as the flames seared his back and tail, the back half of his tunic was incinerated causing the rest to fall away reveling his upper body.
After the dragon took flight Iskar's charred hide started to regenerate, much to his discomfort. The regenerating flesh and scales produced a extremely unbearable itching sensation. An itch that unfortunately he could scratch at the present time which irritated him.
"Iskar!" he hear Hadvar's voice shout as the Nord Legionnaire rushed to the aid the wounded Argonian in anyway that he could.
"The boy…" The Frost-scale started as trying to stand and regain his composure.
"Safe, lets go we need to get out of here!" the soldier cut him off as he tried to help the rather large Argonian to his feet. Afterward the two kept moving nearly getting crushed when the dragon landed on a ledge near them. Arrows flew at the beast, but even as they just bounced off it's thick hide the creature releases a stream of flames from it's fanged maw thoroughly cooking it's attacker.
"Damn!" Iskar curses as the monster takes flight again, "This is ridiculous!"
"Lets go!" the Legionnaire pressed forward though the ruined house to find other soldiers of his unit, still desperately and vainly combating the dragon.
Tullius noticed the two men appear from the burning home, "Hadvar! Into the keep soldier! We're leaving!" He had recognized the futility of the situation and had order the remainder of his men to retreat.
The Nordic Legionnaire groaned in annoyance but followed his orders making his way to the keep with Iskar in toe. They reached a gap in the wall further up the path near the keep. The sound of a dragon roaring overhead made him look up to see the rapidly descending body of a Legionnaire the beast apparently snatched off the wall. Iskar managed to barely step back letting the body hit the ground with a resounding thud, the sounds of bones shattering sent a chill up Iskar's spine. He was all too aware that the body could have very easily landed on him. If the encounter didn't kill the poor bastard, the fall sure did.
He hissed a curse in his native tongue before he saw the bow and quiver on the soldier's back, the quiver in question still had it's leather shroud over it, meaning the unfortunate archer was scooped up before he could even nock an arrow. The Frost-scale saw an opportunity and snagged the bow and quiver from the fallen soldier, ripped the covering off the arrows, drawing one and nocking it. Drawing the string and leveling the bow on dragon's head all in one fluid movement. As the dragon circled round for another strike, Iskar steadied his breathing aiming for the eye of the beast before releasing the arrow. It took several agonizing seconds for the aforementioned missile to actually strike the dragon, though it struck it square in the snout and shattered into pieces.
The massive creature didn't even acknowledge it was even hit, it just kept coming right at Iskar, opening its maw in attempt to snatch him from the ground and snap him in half.
Three days later.
Iskar's eyes snapped open and his body snapped up with a start looking around the room as he tried to get his breathing under control. He found that he was in the cellar of someone's home, then his memory returned to him. He and Hadvar made it to Riverwood, the town blacksmith was Hadvar's uncle, Alvor. He and his wife gave them a place to stay until they got back on their feet.
Hadvar left the day before to return the legion while Iskar stayed a little longer to allow his back to properly heal after the rapidly regenerating his damaged flesh back in Helgen.
Getting up and making sure his cloths were decent, they were given to him by Alvor to get him out of those scratchy burlap trousers -and the Frost-scale was grateful for it. He headed up stairs to see Sigrid cooking.
And she noticed the Argonian coming up the stairs, "Mornin' to you Iskar. Did you sleep well?" at this he shook his head, "Still having nightmares? Come sit I'll fix you some breakfast."
"Thank you, Sigrid…" he bowed his head respectfully, "I am grateful for you and your husbands generosity and hospitality."
"Its nothing really, I just wish we could do more for you." She said with a soft smile setting a plate down in front of him. "Alvor is waiting for you by the forge when your ready."
Iskar tended to Alvor's forge over the course of the three days to make himself feel useful. Whether it be chopping wood for arrow shafts, assisting in the crafting of weapons, armor or other things an adventurer or traveling mercenary might need.
With Iskar's skill and knowledge of the forge enabled him to make good quality equipment, something that wouldn't break or get punctured on the first strike and it was built to last as long as the material allowed it. He continued to assist the blacksmith until he was fully stocked.
"I think that will be enough." The hearty Nord concluded, "I'll make sure your work here would fetches a fair price. I've heard of the craftsmanship of the Frost-scale clans… but I've never seen it in practice first hand."
"Trust me, my friend. Our craftsmanship is more a necessity that it is a trade or profession." Iskar grinned, "Slavers and the Dominion actively hunt my people, if we have no means to protect ourselves they would surly get their way."
The smith nodded, "A group of Argonians on the run for so many years, then you just decide to take a stand and fight back right here in Skyrim of all places. By using Skyrim's harsh unforgiving environment to your advantage and turning the hunter into the hunted." was almost phrasing the Frost-scales' history as if it were legend, "During your war against your enemies your bodies adapted to the harshness of the land becoming heartier more resistant to nature and its savage ways, your hunting tactics become as unforgiving as Skyrim itself… yet you never forget the reason why you fight, Survival. You don't do anything to anyone that doesn't deserve it, you never harm innocent travelers if anything you protect them from the trees and roadsides… while striking fear into the hearts of your foes."
The Frost-scale grinned, "So that particular legend goes… I'll never understand the need to spin such fanciful tales about things."
"Stories ensure that one is never truly forgotten." Alvor reasoned, and it was reasoning that Iskar had to concede to, "Say… you're fixing to leave soon right?"
"Perhaps, why?"
"Why don't you use what ever materials I have left to outfit yourself?" the Smith offered. Iskar stood up preparing to politely refuse when Alvor raised a hand to silence him, "I haven't even paid you yet, so consider this your payment for a job well done I'll even help you."
Again this was logic that the Argonian found hard to ignore, "Thank you Alvor, I'm very grateful for all of your help."
"Well, shall we get started then shall we?"
Several hours later the sun was beginning to set several hours of hammer to anvil shaping and bending metal, the two smiths had beat out and entire set of steel armor sans the helmet as well as a new shield and long sword both forged of steel long bow made of stiff ash. Iskar was finishing up the polish on his new sword when he heard a commotion down the road at the trading post. He caught small bits of the argument about something being stolen and sighed. He glanced over to the dummy where his near complete set of sturdy Nordic styled steel armor stood. "I guess its time to get moving."
He disassembled the dummy removing the armor from it and applying it to his own body, before reassembling it out of courtesy. He fashioned a special belt harness that featured a set of pouches on the belt around waist, while the belt crossing his chest and back over his right shoulder secured his sword's sheath with the quiver over top of it with in reach of his right arm making the drawing of an arrow or his sword easy. The bow he pulled off the vice after training it to flex as it was required so it didn't snap on him the first draw. It settled itself around the quiver using its odd shape to keep from falling off.
He started to stretch and twist to let the straps get use to his form, afterward he quickly wrote out a letter again thanking the family for caring for him before making his way to the post… starting off by taking his first task on this road. He was a Ranger after all.
There you go, First chapter and Iskar's Journey has begun. IF you have questions regarding Iskar or the Frost-scale clans don't hesitate to ask.