A/N: I know it's been years. I kinda miss this, even as cringy as it is. I'm going through and editing these piles of shits. Enjoy.
Disclaimer:...come on Bethesda, as if I could come up with a Lore like this. It ain't mine.
Chapter 1: The Return
Rorrn Isharp inwardly scowled at himself for what was probably one of the greatest mistakes in his rather uneventful life.
Looking back, the Nordic messenger should have realized today would end up like any other day.
Even from a young age, it seemed he had been cursed by the Nine Divines themselves to remain a very unlucky man. Gifted with clumsiness, a terrible sword-arm, and not to mention his complete incompetence at the discipline of magic; some(rather loud Nords) would say Rorrn was lucky to even breathing out in the harsh landscape of Skyrim. It didn't help that he wasn't the most attractive Nord, standing a few feet shorter than your average belly aching warrior with no form of facial hair except his mildly cut black hair hidden behind a messengers cap. Of course, no one said couriers had to be too attractive, and so far the job had been fairly easy and simple.
Unless you counted the occasional chase after delivering bad news to a drunk Nord.
Life seemed to be looking up for the skinny messenger however, now that he had a job to keep him afloat. While he wasn't rich, the job did bring in a steady stream of gold and the occasional tip provided by the client. Such as today was supposed to go. A simple task. All Rorrn needed to do was go to Riverwood, find a man, and give the letter. No questions or complaints. Simple and easy.
Curse his luck that he should enter the town right as a dragon decides to mess with the local townspeople.
"FUS!" the dragon shouted from above, the powerful Thu' um materializing before slamming into a nearby guard tower.
Luckily one that Rorrn was using to hide.
The man gave a yelp of surprise as the shout slammed into the stone building, ripping him from his thoughts and easily crumpling the stone structure as if made of paper. Rorrn himself had been hiding near the stairwell to get into it, which gave way beneath him as the gate-like tower fell atop him. Whether from luck or not, he was able to scramble forward in an effort to escape, dodging most of the larger debris from crushing him. He wasn't fast enough however, when a particularly heavy piece of broken stone decided to make itself via slamming into his back and knocking the man down with a yelp. His mind swam with pain and disorientation, attempting but failing to get his thoughts together. The ringing in his ears from the power of the dragons shout wasn't helping either. Rorrn's vision being the first thing to come back, he gazed upon the small town of Riverwood and the chaos that was ensuing.
Patches of yellow fuzz seemed to run around chaotically until he saw they were the local Riverwood guards, trying desperately to being order to the town unaccustomed to dragon attacks. While some where ensuring the safety of the townspeople along with the local blacksmith, herding them into their homes for safety(which of course was useless). Many others(seven if Rorrn was seeing correctly) were trying to get the dragons attention and coax the beast away from the town.
Judging from the cries of the townsfolk, it wasn't going as planned.
"By Gods I get out of here NOW!" Rorrn groggily thought as his mind began to finally form coherent thoughts. He attempted to move and get up from atop the pile of stone and wood, and was met with a sharp pain in his back. Grunting through the excess use of force, Rorrn inwardly cursed himself as he forced himself up despite the pain and noticed the blood spilling from his calf where a splinter of wood had to luckily decided to pierce. It wasn't fatal, thank the Divines, but it was in deep and would probably need medical attention as soon as possible.
If he made it out of the situation alive that was.
Another roar tore through the air, prompting Rorrn to scramble and make his way towards the towns southern exit, there in hopefully leading him back to Whiterun. He couldn't see the gods damned dragon as he was too busy running for his life, but if his hearing was anything to go off of, then it was still circling the town and spouting powerful Shouts upon the town. All he needed to do was get on the main road, find his way home, and somehow get this piece of wood out and-
Something suddenly crashed directly behind Rorrn.
The tremor easily knocked the poor courier to his knees, disorienting him for a second before true dread overtook his thoughts. He remained stock still, not moving an inch for fear of what lurked behind him. There was no more roaring, no more screaming, no more flames.
Everything seemed to have gone deathly silent.
A rush of hot, damp air blew from behind Rorrn which only caused the Nord to begin quivering in fear. Something sounding like a low rumble(or was it actually chuckling) could be heard behind him. Rorrn could only pray to Akatosh and all the Divines as he slowly turned that what was behind him was not a-
Dragon
Cold, primal fear gripped the man as he lost all sense of thought and movement. The bronze reptilian beast simply gazed onto him, its dull green eyes looking at him with what appeared to be disgust and a little bit of amusement. Everything within Rorrn told him to run, hide, and do what he was best at. He was always good at running, yet none of his limbs would move. Added that his leg was still bleeding, and he probably wouldn't be able to run far anyways, he could only stare death in the eyes. Rorrn remained still for what seemed like hours as the beast waited for something, perhaps thinking it would find a fight in this twig of a man. Unfortunately, it did not, and grew bored far too quickly for Rorrn's liking as it drew itself to its full height in preparation for his death.
Just his luck.
"FUUUS! RO! DAH!"
It all happened too quickly for Rorrn to comprehend, for where there once was a dangerous, colossal dragon ready to eat him, now there was nothing. The dragon gave a roar of frustration as is it felt itself being forced back by the force pushing it away from the petty mortal. Rorrn simply stared in utter amazement that this colossal beast could be moved at all. What amazed him even more was the tell-tale clank of metal armor next to him.
That's what prompted Rorrn to turn his head to the left.
At first glance, the figure standing there was nothing truly special. Ebony armor, while very not seen amongst guards and soldiers, was not uncommon when one actually traveled around Skyrim. Rorrn himself had had the pleasure of meeting many of Ebony armorer warrior in his life, which meant that whoever this was didn't play around in a fight. Of course, the armor itself had seen better days. Chips were numerous in the armor, and if he looked closely, Rorrn could see part of the right shoulder guard missing. What should have been a shining set of expensive armor was dulled now to a pale gray and black. Yes, there was nothing spectacular about the figure that stood before him in terms of armor.
That was, until he looked up and saw the bronze mask that hid the figures face. What should have been a helmet of Ebony, was instead an ancient looking mask with slits for eyes, and a hood shrouding the back of the head downwards. One could tell from the slight glow that it was enchanted, and gave of the impression of a living mask. No, there was only one being Rorrn knew through recent tales and songs that wore ebony armor and a mask of ancient's long forgotten. The same being that hadn't been seen(if rumors were to be believed) in years. The last time anyone had heard of this particular legend, they spoke of another land far off that had required this man's attention. Anyone who'd lived in Skyrim for the past few years had come to know and hears tales of this imposing man before Rorrn.
The Dragonborn.
Rorrn was broken from his stupor as another roar, this one louder and more challenging, was bellowed from the dragon. Apparently, one glance from the wyvern had it in a frenzy at the sight of the fabled dragon slayer. If Rorrn didn't know any better, he could swear by the Divines that the dragon seemed almost fearful of the armored man than angry however.
"I need to ask you to get away as quickly as possible." A rather calm voice sounded from his left, making Rorrn turn back to the Dragonborn, mesmerized by the fact that he was talking to him of all people.
Just his luck.
Rorrn didn't know how long he stood there as he simply took in the presence of the Hero of Skyrim, feeling like nothing in the world could hurt him with him here. It was only after the Dragonborn's mask turned quickly to face the (Charging!) Dragon did Rorrn decide it was time to move. Ignoring the pain in his leg as best he could, Rorrn dove back towards the rubble of the guard post, scurrying around it so as to stay far away but still close enough to see. He noticed that it still remained quiet, as it seemed he wasn't the only one admiring the presence of the Dragonborn. Guards and townsfolk alike were simply gawking as the figure stood stock still while the raging Dragon charged towards him, its eyes filled with bloody rage and hatred born from years of watching its other brethren fall to this warrior. Faster than Rorrn thought possible, the dragon was upon the Dragonborn and brought its powerful jaw to bear with enough power to snap a tree in half.
Nothing the Dragonborn wasn't accustomed to.
With speeds that defied the armor he was wearing, the Dragonborn twisted his body and deftly sidestepped the attack. The dragons jaw gave a loud crack as the snapped at open air, it's' eyes widening with both confusion and fear at the close proximity to the Dragonborn. What was even more daunting was the weapon that the man pulled quickly from his back, one many had seen before their deaths and one that gave even the dragon chills down its scales.
A Dragonebone Axe.
Acting as quickly as it could, the dragon retracted its head higher into the air so as to be clear from that weapon. Ancient words filled the dovah's mind as it readied a Shout, but was caught off guard when the Dragonborn beat it to the punch. "Fus!" he bellowed from below, causing the great wyrm to reel back from the power of it. In an act of desperation, the dragon gave a roar of challenge as it twisted its body around and swung its tail towards where the Dovahkiin had been and awaited the sweet sound of crushed bone and armor.
It never came.
Instead the Dovah felt surprising weight upon its tail before the weight shifted quickly and landed on its lower back. Fear overtook all its instincts as it knew exactly what was happening, opting to force the Dovahkiin off by fearfully bucking and twisting around. Another roar and jet of flames was let loose as it shook this way and that, before the weight suddenly left its back. The dragon inwardly thanked Akatosh that it succeeded in throwing the dragon slayer off, readying itself to use its Thu'um on the staggering foe so as to-
"You fall." we're the last words spoken before the dragon suddenly felt as if his body was gone. His mind had only seconds to process what had happened as the world slowly twisted upside down with his head landing on the ground. No anger. No victory. Only pure and utter defeat from the Dovahkiin himself. Years of waiting for the right moment, a millennia of stalking the mortals till the time was right; all wasted in a couple seconds of a fight. Darkness overtook the Dovah as he began to leave this realm, wishing that the last thing he saw wasn't the burning disappointment and loath in the Dovahkiin's eyes.
Chalur Dralfran, despite what many thought, was not a very spiritual mortal. Sure, he'd been to places that could make even the hardiest of men, beastfolk, and mer question the very existence. Gods, Daedra, Immortals. Honestly, Chalur liked to think there were always explanations for things, even if said explanations were a bit farfetched to begin with. He didn't even want to remind himself right now of the atrocities and abominations he'd seen in Apocrypha not too many moons ago.
He was still having nightmares.
After a year off in Solstheim, dealing with more ancient secret that really should have stayed secret, he'd finally returned to Skyrim; home. While it wasn't his true home, at least not by race, Skyrim had become something of a jewel in Chalur's life despite all that had happened these many years. Adventurer by heart, there were still so many secrets and legends left undiscovered by the Dragonborn himself. He needed to keep moving. He needed to learn more!
...he needed to rest.
At least, that's what he was thinking about as he walked into Riverwood a few minutes ago to visit the Riverwood Trader in the wee hours of the morning, only for his r&r to be torn away by the roar of a dragon overhead.
Needless to say it seemed to Dragonborn was needed again.
In no time, the dragon was slain.
Its disembodied head fell to the ground with a hard 'thud', sounding the stop to Riverwoods destruction. Chalur himself landed a few paces away, wincing slightly at the overuse of his wounded right leg. He breathed slowly to ease the pain before standing to his full height and turning his masked face to the dragons now dead body. Blood spurted from the neck as it slowly slumped to the ground in defeat. It took only a second before the majestic glow of the defeated dragons soul slowly began to ascend from the body. In that span of a few seconds, every nerve in Chalur's body seemed to tense up, almost instinctively. Waiting. Watching. Praying to whatever Divine existed that he wouldn't hear that same cursed voice and disgusting laugh he always heard in Solstheim.
Every time he killed a dragon...
Every moment he thought he had been victorious...
Just as soon as the tenseness had come, it vanished as the bright glow of the soul transferred within himself, a sense of relief coming with it. His first dragon kill since his time in Solstheim and he never felt better. Opening his eyes, he found the site of the giant bones of the dragon comforting despite himself, even if the pool of blood still lay where the skull now was.
Silently he hoped he wouldn't have to help clean that up.
As Nords and others alike began to realize what had just happened, Chalur swiftly and silently latched his beloved battleaxe 'Bane' onto the carrying device set into his armor back. Feeling the familiar weight of the axe, Chalur couldn't help but feel a hint of bitterness at having to use this weapon instead of his usual weapon-of-choice. Shaking his head of these thoughts, he instead found himself being overrun with cheers and familiar faces congratulating him for their saving.
"Oh thank the Divines you were here!"
"I remember when he came into the town years ago!"
"You know, I used to be an adventurer like you..."
"All hail the Dragonborn!"
Having no way to show his discomfort through his mask, Chalur could only nod at the cheers and praise shouted at him in close proximity, trying desperately to walk and get out of the town without causing too much commotion. He had wanted to buy some quick supplies without anyone knowing he was here, but it seemed he wasn't going to get that chance. Thankfully through some divine or spiritual intervention, the crowd began to disperse as a booming voice shouted, "Step aside you milk drinkers! Let 'em have his space!"
Chalur had never been more grateful to see Ralof again.
The Stormcloak soldier made his way through the already dwindling crowd, his face plastered with a grateful smile, yet his eyes glinting with some concern though Chalur knew the Nord was too proud to voice it. No doubt he noticed the new burnt marks and chipped armor already on Chalur's armor that hadn't been there the last time he'd seen him. Instead, the Nord nodded with gratitude before sticking out his hand, Chalur instinctively grabbing with his gloved hand and shaking firmly. It seemed even with the whole civil war still going on, some friendships would remain strong.
"It's been a while Chalur. Years too long. We thought- Skyrim, thought you'd never return again." Ralof said with a concern still etched in his eyes. The two of them hadn't kept in contact in the beginning due to Skyrim's 'Civil War', the one Chalur had come to despise so much over his adventures. It hadn't been till trying to find Alduin that Chalur had started becoming a regular around Riverwood, and in turn, starting getting to know Ralof better. The two had gone out on a couple quests together, Chalur learning to appreciate the Nords knowledge of Skyrim's wilderness. To Chalur, it was a relief that even after all these years, he could possibly still call this man a friend.
And just like that, Chalur Dralfran was reminded of his nightmare in Solstheim.
Ralof must have noticed the shift in mood as Chalur's hand began to squeeze tighter around his own. Chalur quickly retracted his hand as he gained control of himself, sweeping the unwanted memories of the past year back for another time so he could speak. "Thanks for the concern friend, but I'll survive. Maybe get some drinks soon, but if it's all the same to you, I need to leave as soon as possible." Chalur spoke again, trying to emphasize his need to get home. Ralof, ever a man who knew what it was like being away from home, caught the strong ache in the Dragonborn's voice. Men like him knew full well that one could only be gone for so long before it took its toile. A part of him wanted to know what had happened, why he'd been gone for almost two years and making the land think their fabled Hero was dead. Of course, judging from the way Chalur was holding himself up (too exhausted. Barely awake), that would need to be another time. Ralof gave a firm nod in understanding before beckoning Chalur to follow him towards the front entrance of the town. No doubt the man wanting nothing more than to get home now.
The two made their way through the town in a companionable silence, letting the cheers and words of the townsfolk drown out anything else. A few who'd known about Chalur before his legendary feats gave nods of thanks in their direction, prompting Chalur to do the same. He knew he'd have to come back here when he got the chance one day, if nothing more than to catch up with Ralof and perhaps even Gerdur. He really did miss her vegetable stews.
"Dragonborn?"
Ralof gave a snort of frustration before casting his gaze towards the one who dared bother his friend. It seemed that skinny lad who had almost been dragon-meal decided to grow a pair and speak up. Chalur, weary and drained of all energy, breathed in to keep himself together before also turning to the young Nord. He noticed that while the splinter had been removed, a rather crude bandage had been used to stop the bleeding. No doubt he'd be one of the last to be looked at due to his already sorry state. Despite it all however, he gaze still held that same wonder from before, maybe even more so now that Chalur had acknowledged him. Acting quickly, the courier bowed his head in respect before saying, "Thank you! Had you not been there I surely would have….would have died!" Ralof irritably rolled his eyes at such a flashy display of gratitude, but was surprised when Chalur actually spoke up again.
"You're a courier right? For Whiterun I hope?"
Rorrn raised his head in astonishment, whether from having his gratitude ignored or simply being spoken to Ralof couldn't tell, and hastily nodded his head. Chalur remained quiet even as his hands went towards the large knapsack strapped to his shoulder. Ralof would have liked nothing more than to ask how and where that had come from for it certainly hadn't been there not a moment ago. A small letter was produced, along with a sizable sack of coin, before Chalur stepped forward and set them down in front of a surprised Rorrn. "Don't wish to trouble you even more with that leg of yours, but if it's not too much trouble, your Jarl needs that letter pronto." Chalur asked, keeping his tone light and neutral. Every moment he spent away from home drained him more and more, and he knew full it wouldn't be long till he collapsed soon; yet, he refused to burden anyone with his pain. Dragonborn or not, Chalur would walk through ten thousand dragons then ever let the people of Skyrim know how broken he was.
A few silent moments passed before Rorrn once again thanked Chalur and scooping up the items. Chalur simply gave a nod of thanks before rising once more and continuing his walk towards the gate, Ralof not far behind. Despite his earlier thoughts, the Stormcloak soldier couldn't help himself before asking in confusion, "A letter for the Jarl, after being gone for so long? The hell is going on Chalur?"
"For everyone's sake Ralof, I simply hope I'm wrong. I just hope everyone's ok."
Ralof raised his brows at the evasion, though let it go out of respect for his friend. That didn't stop him from voicing his next thought however.
"….and your wife?"
In that moment Ralof knew full and well that he had just cheated death not once but twice today.
While he hadn't made a sound nor stopped walking, the air surrounding the two instantly became heavy with tension. The nord knew that if not for Chalur's exhaustion and well known selflessness, he'd be on the ground right now with a broken jaw or worse. He cursed himself for his choice of words, suddenly remembering Gerdur's many rants about how his mouth moved faster than his mind did. That perhaps one day it'd be the death of him.
Thankfully this was not that day.
As they both stepped out of the towns' entrance, the tense air lessened as Chalur let out a heavy sigh. Ralof watch with rapt attention as the fabled Dragonborn, hero of Skyrim, Alduin's Bane himself, slowly slunk his head down in defeat. The air around him almost completely dissipated as quickly as it'd come and for some reason, Ralof found himself knowing almost exactly why that was.
"You haven't told her your back…..have you? Not even a letter?"
In that moment, the man didn't need to see through the mask to know, nor feel, the absolute dread that wafted off of Chalur Dralfran. In this moment, Ralof was never more glad he wasn't born Dragonborn.
Just his luck.
A/N: Enjoy. Let me know what you think.