Summary:The forsworn have waited for the chance to reclaim their land that was stolen from them. Now, they will have it. With Talara, cunning matriarch of one of the largest forsworn clans and chosen champion of Hircine, at their head, the forsworn will be victorious. They will take back their lands, even if every nord in the reach must die. No pairings as of yet, but suggestions will taken.
There isn't many stories dealing with the inner workings of the forsworn, neither is there much to be found on the internet, so I'm pretty much using my own imagination about how they work. It's kind of short and I don't know if I'll continue it but read anyways and let me know if you think I should. First Skyrim fic by the way so go easy on me.
Read and review as always!
The drums could be heard all throughout the forest. Songs of blood and war accompanied the warful melody. Talara watched her brothers and sisters as they danced around Hircine's alter. The werewolf they had captured was shackled atop the stone table and roared his displeasure and did his best to lunge at the forsworn as they relished in praising their god.
When she raised her hand, all movement and sound stopped. "My brothers and sisters, it has been long since we sought the favor of our Lord Hircine." She slowly unsheathed a long knife from her thigh. "Lord Hircine, we call to you on this night, to seek your favor and guidance. We long to reclaim the Reach, not only for us, but for you and your people. Before the Nords drove us out, there was peace. And now they threaten to tear the very world apart with deception and war. With this sacrifice, we ask for your blessing, great lord of the Hunt, in reclaiming what was stolen from us." With a quick, practiced motion, she sliced the backs of the knees of the beast and forced him to kneel. He growled, but otherwise did nothing. She slashed open his wrists and four of her sisters brought forth two cups to fill with the beast blood.
"No, please!" All eyes turned in the direction of an approaching Briarheart, dragging a petrified nord behind him. It was the Innkeeper's son from Markarth. Hreinn. "Please, don't do this." He begged, looking up at the black haired beauty before him. He gasped, for this was undoubtedly the forsworn queen. Her armor was similar to that of any forsworn, but hers was crafted from a sabre cat's pelt and what looked like dragon scales. She wore no headdress, leaving long silky black tresses to cascade down her backside. With all her Dibella given beauty, he could see the coldness in her eyes. The anger, the hatred, though towards who or what, he was not sure. She raised her hand and beckoned the Briarheart forward.
"This man stands a child of the enemy, birthed on legends of the mad Reachmen. Raised on tales of the savage forsworn. Let his blood spill upon the altar tonight, in the name of Lord Hircine. For one day, the Reach will be ours again, even if we must take it, one lowly nord at a time."
The gathered forsworn cheered as he was dragged forward and thrown onto the table, in front of the werewolf, that oddly, made no move toward him. His arms and legs were shackled.
"Please, my queen, your ladyship. I do not know what crime I have committed but I will repent for-"
"I," She silenced him at once with a cold stare. "Am no queen, and your crime was committed long ago. Not by you, but those you praise as your ancestors. Those who stole our lands from us and claim it theirs, when we have resided here since the dawn of our people's time!" She stepped forward. "You will die today, son of Markarth. And you will only have your own people to blame for it."
The forsworn began to dance and sing again and the land was filled with old music. Talara smiled as she watched the spectacle. It had far too long since her people were allowed such merriment. She was the matriarch of this sprawling clan of Reachmen. Their numbers doubled every year and she had nearly 300 more beneath her command. It was not an easy task, and as the years wore on, her impatience to once again walk freely throughout lands that rightfully belonged to her people grew ever stronger. When the dance had ended, the people looked to her, eyes shining bright with life.
"Come!" She cried. "Come and face the Forsworn! First you…" She pointed at Hreinn. "Then the Reach! We will reclaim what is rightfully ours. Kill one of us, and three will take their place. The Forsworn are unstoppable!" The people cheered again, filling the night with their approval of their matriarch. She grinned and unsheathed the sword of Red Eagle and without another word, rammed it into the heart of the werewolf. The beast collapsed and she turned to Hreinn and smiled wickedly. He struggled in vain and she playfully nicked his arm. Just enough for his blood to spill onto the altar but nowhere near enough to kill him.
"Please." He begged. "My family know of my absence. Guards will be sent to look for me. You don't want to do this."
"Oh, but I do. I want to do it to every nord in Markarth. But since this table is not large enough for so many, you will have to do." With a mighty swing, she cleaved off the boy's head and raised it for all to see.
"Well done, Talara." said Hircine as he stepped out of the mist, accompanied by two great black wolves.
"My lord." Talara quickly bowed.
"Do not be alarmed, you are within my realm, while the time for yours appears to have stopped. No one will notice that you are with me. Rise, champion of Hircine."
Talara obeyed and looked into the dark sockets of the lord of the hunt's deer helmet. "What is your will?"
"Our people have lain dormant for far too long. The time for deception and trickery is over. Madanach lies within his cell, scheming and plotting, yet nothing is being accomplished. I would have you lead my people. But first, a statement must be made. One spelled with blood. Gather your people and go to Dragon Bridge Overlook to join the forsworn there."
"You mean for us to attack Dragon Bridge."
"I mean for you to destroy it."