The dragon warriors.
The legend of the dragonborn was predicted hundreds of years ago but it never said who it would be and how they were to compete their destiny. In this story I shall tell you how.
Chapter 1. Arrival
Bound in ropes on a horse and cart is how I was welcomed to Skyrim. The cart shook violently with each bump and stone the wheels creaked over. The hard-cold bench was nothing compared to the air and landscape, dull grey sky threatening rain, the trees grew thick and I could see not much of anything else, not that I wanted to look around that is. I kept my eyes fixed down and listened to the other prisoners around me.
"Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." Said a rugged blonde Nord sat opposite me, he had dirty blonde hair that fell to his shoulders, a single braid fell on his face that looked worn and tired, he was talking to another Nord sat to my left. Both men looked worse for wear.
"Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along, the empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell. You there. You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." A filthy brown-haired, short Nord grumbled, he had tanned skin and a thin frame, his greasy dirty brown hair was pushed back from his face, he also looked tired and beaten.
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." The first blond Nord said a little too proudly, clearly full of this Nordic pride the are rumoured to have.
An Imperial Soldier in front of us yelled "Shut up back there!"
The men fell silent, so I took a moment to look at all of us on the carriage. There were six of us in total. In front of me where 3 men, two Nords one blond and in army uniform sporting a blue colour, what I presume to be the Stormcloaks armour, and a brown-haired Nord (the filthy one) dressed in rags, and to the end and much to my surprise sat tall a high elf. He was hauntingly quiet and observing us all, he was bound like us and clearly been beaten bad, I wonder why he was here.
Now turning my attention to the other men. I was sat in between two Nords. The man to my left was a young man, he had a cocky grin and a bloody nose, his hair was blonde, but it was a dark dirty colour with strips of lighter blonde running through.
But the man to my right was something else, blonde haired Nord with braids in his hair, he wore fine clothes of a noble and held the air of power to him a leader would. But the strangest thing was he was gagged and as far as I could see he was the only one to be.
The filthy thief noticed me staring at the noble and he piped up "And what's wrong with him, huh?" Nodding his head at the Nords direction,
"Watch your tongue. You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King." The Stormcloak spat out, full of pride.
"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?" The thief panicked, eyes darting around looking like a scared animal.
"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." The Stormcloak murmured more to himself.
"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening." The thief now fidgeting in his bindings, looking for an escape.
"Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?" The man to my left asked.
"Why do you care?" The thief spat clearly still struggling to get out of his bindings.
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." The Stormcloak solemnly said understanding the distraction.
"Rorikstead. I'm... I'm from Rorikstead." The thief finally said, clearly giving up his struggle.
The entire time this distraction commenced the carriage kept rolling down the hill, towards our destination. A small town with high walls and a big gate.
The gate slowly opened with two soldiers pushing hard, as it swung and creaked it revealed a stone-built town. The stone road gave way to a dirt track that kicked up dust into the air as we travelled over it.
The houses in this village where of a typical Nordic design, that being 1 of 2 stories high with a thatched roof. From what I could tell the town used to be a military post due to having a few stone towers and a few watch posts.
An Imperial Soldier a head of us saluted and yelled "General Tullius, sir. The headsman is waiting"
"Good. Let's get this over with!" A grey-haired Imperial in a high-ranking officer uniform replied, he sounded tired and looked it too. This must be General Tullius.
I got distracted from my thoughts to listening the thief's panicked prayer "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me."
"Divines won't help you now, better save you breath" the Nord to my left added.
An angry grunt came from the Stormcloak in front of me followed by loud mutterings "Look at him. General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this." Shifting his gaze to the elf on the cart, glare met with glare and then the elf shifted his angry glare to the other Stormcloak, Jarl Ulfric. The men must have sat like that all the journey, strange way to spend your last moments alive, but who am I to judge.
I stopped listening to the Stormcloak ramble on about the town we are in, Helgen and something about mead with Juniper berries mixed in, and took in the last time I could see the sky, the clouds gave way to the sun and I could see a grey/blue sky, though with the sun shining down it still felt bitterly cold. It is strange being so calm before the end, I still have life in me so why was I not fighting, maybe I am too tired to, tired of fighting, of running, of living with fear. Maybe this is why I am calm.
The thief's panic rose up again "Why are we stopping?" As on cue the carriage halted.
"Why do you think. End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us." The Stormcloak replied standing up
"No! Wait! We're not rebels!" The thief jumped up.
"Face your death with some courage, thief." The Stormcloak spat out clearly annoyed by the thief
"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"
I thought I heard the elf in front make a sarcastic chuckle to himself as he walked off the cart.
Names where being called to line up in front of the headman's block. "The empire love their damn lists" the Stormcloak behind me muttered to my ear as he leaned close while we waited for our names to be called
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm", the man lined up in a courtyard directed by soldiers and other names were called. "Ralof of Riverwood, Gunjar, Davron, Lokir of Rorikstead,"
When his name is called "No, I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!" Panic took over and he ran.
An Imperial Captain in front of us yells "Halt!" She tried to sound authoritative, but it just sounded like a child pretending.
Lokir screamed wildly, still madly running the way we came up "You're not going to kill me!" The Imperial Captain screamed "Archers!" And that's when I noticed them 8 Imperial archers with long bows, without another order they raised their bows and fired, each arrow sunk into Lokir's body and the man fell, body limp and life gone.
Without another word the guard carried on reading names out till only the elf and I was left. The guard questioned him. "Name, age and reason for imprisonment"
I took this moment to study the elf in question, he was tall, I mean I have heard that the Altmer where tall, but he towered over even the tallest elf I have ever seen. From what I could see he was lean, and his skin was a pale gold, but his hair was strikingly black, like midnight, his hair was short, it looked messy over his face and in need of a comb back. His sharp features with high cheek bones and strong jaw line was softened by his honey eyes, they looked like they could read your soul and hold every secret.
"Mithra, 29 and the reason for my imprisonment is because I have been mistaken for a spy when I am simply passing through." His voice was calm and deep, it had an accent I couldn't place, and he was well spoken.
His back straightened as he was told he was to be executed like the others and sent to join them by the block. He complied but I could see the faint glow of a spell on his fingers working at the ropes.
"And who are you?" questioned an imperial scout, he was the one reading the names off the list and now adding more of them, the Imperials liked their lists.
"Elyzabyth, sir... I was in the wrong place at the wrong time." I tried to sound as innocent as I could.
"Breton eh, bit far from high rock, aren't you?"
My glare shut him up as I turned to make my way to the block.
As I joined the other prisoners the man named Tullius was yelling into Ulfric's face, " Ulfric Stormcloak, some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the voice to murder the high king of Skyrim. You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace." When he finished his rant at the gagged man. A strange noise filled the air, a roar, but not from any beast I have heard before. No something much more terrifying, the roar rumbled down the hills and filled my ears even though it must have been far away.
With hairs standing on the back of my neck, and the others looking to the sky, "what was that?" Questioned the imperial scout.
"It's nothing carry on!" General Tullius said as he walked to his place beside the captain. " yes, general Tullius" she saluted, looking a bit ridiculous. As she turned, she spoke to a priestess " give then their last rights" she ordered
The priestess started a prayer "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessing of the eight divines upon you..."
Not wanting to hear anymore one of the Stormcloaks yelled "oh for the love of Talos, shut up and lets just get this over with shall we" and he marched himself bravely to the block.
Then the scene unfolded before me, the captain kicking the Nord down to the block, his head was turned to face the headsman, the said headsman raised his heavy axe above his head, and then after a moment's pause the axe came crashing down on the Stormcloaks neck. His head came cleanly off as blood poured down as his head rolled in a basket. His body was being dragged away.
"Next prisoner, the male Nord in rags" yelled the Captain yelled.
Then that noise again, an unnatural roar, it filled the air and came down from the skies. It sounds closer than the first time.
"Captain, there's that noise again, did you hear that?" The Imperial scout said.
Clearly not enjoying the distraction and feeling like she must be in control of the situation the captain practically screamed, "I said the next prisoner!"
Then cocky Nord brushed past me heading towards his fate,
"Nice and easy, to the block Davron" a blown haired imperial scout ushered.
Dropping to his knees the Nord lay head on the blood covered block. A silent prayer escaping his lips.
The headman's axe raised, and the air fell silent. I looked up to the sky not able to watch anymore, my heart stopped, a great black monster swooped down from the clouds and crashed down on the tower behind the headman, saying I was stunned is an understatement. As I said the monster was huge bigger than the tower it sat on, with shiny black scales, it had two massive wings and while I wondered what it was the screams of others saying "Dragon!" Answered any questions.
Before I could think of what to do this dragon opened its jaws and yelled this strange sound, the skies grew dark and thunder rumbled, another shout and all were knocked to the floor by a hard-invisible force. Panic hit me as I tried to stand fire crashed to the ground shaking it violently. Then two large hands grabbed my arms and I was lifted from the ground and carried to a stone building people were fleeing too.