Skyrim was since an inspiration and I decided to make up my own story from some of the underlying stories of the game. Please R&R
Ienyth Desidenius is a half-Dunmer, half-Imperial thief and ranger from Vivec. She was apprehended crossing the border into Skyrim, trying to reach Riften where she was told by her adoptive parents she was born, to find her birth parents. This her story as she tries to piece together her past and face her future as the Dragonborn.
Escape from Helgen
I grunted as I opened my eyes, blinking at the fuzziness on the edge of my vision. I could feel rope burning into my wrists, the knot far too complex for even my dexterous fingers. I really should have made Shamas teach me how to escape Imperials.
It was as if they'd been waiting for me, a whole battalion of the red armoured wretches, all with chest plates emblazoned with Akatosh's red dragon. Who'd have thought trying to find your own parents would get you a one way ticket on an Imperial wagon?
It wasn't as if I got caught doing the many, very illegal things I'd gotten up to in Vivec, just trying to return to the place of my birth with a vague indication that my parents were from Riften. Couldn't be that many Dunmer-Imperial couples in Riften, now could there? Easy, I'd said.
"You're awake, friend," declared a blonde haired Nord seated in front of me. I narrowed my pale, green eyes at him. He seemed rather too jovial for a man being taken to his execution. If I wasn't gagged I'd have told him so, but as it was I just stuck to my glaring. Maybe if I glared hard enough he'd combust. If only my hands weren't tied behind my back. Combustion was so much fun.
There was another Nord beside me, gagged just like me, and glaring at me. Oh, that was a nice, icy glare, very Nordic. And beside Master Chatty-and-Joyful was some dark haired Nord who looked about as frightened as a newborn deer leaving the thicket for the first time.
They were jabbering away about the execution. In fact, their incessant chattering was driving into my skull and I almost sighed in relief when the wagon stopped in the centre of some town called Helgen. I would be quite happy to die now, if only the talking would stop.
I felt rough hands pull me to my feet and I was pushed in line behind the chatty Nord. The man turned a sympathetic eye my way. I narrowed my eyes at his back.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," called some Imperial soldier at the front with a list of names. The glaring Nord stepped forth and the soldier gave some speech about how some would call him a hero, but really he was a traitor. Very poetic.
"Damn Imperials," muttered Chatty. "Love their damned lists." Well at least he was right about that. Never seen anyone draw up a list like an Imperial. I wonder if my Imperial father was a list-writer. Gods above I hope not.
"Ralof of Riverwood." That was the chatty Nord and he stepped for with, Gods bless him, absolute silence. I could have died happy right there.
"Lokir of Rorikstead." Now that was the thief who looked terrified.
"You've got the wrong man," pleaded the thief and I made a noise of disgust, muffled by my gag. So much for the honour of Nords. This man was a crying, grovelling blight on the face of Tamriel. I was a woman and half-Dunmer and even I could face death with more dignity.
At that point he seemed to go mildly insane, muttering something about how they wouldn't kill him and running for the gates. Without hesitation the Redguard captain called for the archers and I watched with mild amusement as he was downed in a flurry of arrows to drown in his own blood in the mud of Helgen's main street.
"Anyone else feel like running?" asked the Redguard, her face a mask of disgust as she beckoned me forth. She signalled to one of the other guards and I felt someone wrench down my gag, nearly snapping my neck in the process and I glared at the man responsible who merely gave me a condescending side glance. Oh, he was going to die. I would make sure of that.
"What is your name, prisoner?" asked the soldier with the list and I all, but growled at him.
"Ienyth Desidenius," I spat, ignoring the look of surprise that cross the Nord man's face. Yes, I had an Imperial last name. What kind of Imperial would 'lower' themselves to not only sleep with a Dunmer woman, but give his name to the result spawn? Oh, the horror.
"She's not on the list, Captain," said the man after scanning his damned list. The Redguard was looking at me with disgust, receiving one of my patented combustable glares in return.
"Shove your list, Hadvar. Put her with the others." Oh, how very original. A Redguard fighting for the Imperial army who didn't like Dunmers. Never seen that before. I rolled my eyes and joined the other damned in line.
That's when they brought out the priest. And a priest who dared mentioned the Eight Divines in Skyrim, at that. Yes, because rebels who clearly worshipped Talos would actually want her blessing before they died. Idiot Imperials.
Just as I thought one of the men stepped forth, snapping at the woman to shut up. He made a mention to Talos, fallen Divine of the Nords before his head was lopped cleanly from his shoulders. That's when I first heard it, some echoing roar.
No, I wasn't going mad with fear. Hadn't done that since that one visit to the Red Mountain when the bloody volcano decided that it wanted to erupt in that very moment. Actually the sound was quite similar. There were volcanoes in Skyrim, though. Right?
The Redguard seemed unfazed as she turned around her eyes settling on me. Best get the filthy halfbreed out of the way, I guess as she signalled to one of the guards to push me forward. I walked to the block on my own, not really scared and with far more dignity than that dirty little horse thief. The captain kicked me to my knees and I growled at her. She slammed my head onto the block in response. I got the feeling she was rather enjoying herself.
I could see the axe, still dripping with the rebel's blood. Red rivulets that rolled down the sharpened edge of the ebony blade. How fitting. I was going to be killed with a weapon designed by the Dunmer. I'm sure if the Tribunal could see this they'd smile. Or maybe they'd set the Imperials alight. I think they'd rather have the pleasure of killing me themselves, after torturing me, of course. Torture was a given with the Tribunal.
There was that roar again, closer. The very earth shook with the sound and someone pointed to the sky.
"What is it?" barked the Captain, turning around. I could have run, right then, but I'd probably die like the horse thief. I was better than that.
"Something in the clouds," answered one of her soldiers. I looked up at the clouds that roiled above Helgen's keep. That is when I first laid eyes on the massive black dragon. Pre-death hallucination, maybe. I thought so, until it roared with such a forced it knocked my executioner to the ground. Cute, I'd begun to think of him as my executioner.
The dragon landed atop the keep, shaking the ground and knocking everyone over. It looked directly at me with dark, swirling eyes and roared again, and I felt myself hit the ground. My vision blurred and I felt someone grab me by the arms, pulling my into the keep. The door slammed behind me and I turned, almost groaning as I say Ralof, the Chatty Nord of Riverwood, and Ulfric 'Sir Glares-A-Lot' Stormcloak.
Apparently everyone had seen the dragon, not just me. I could have danced with happiness at finding my sanity was still intact, but this didn't seem like quite the right time to dance. Instead of untying me, as would have been wise, the two rebels led me up the stairs. You know, because I wanted to get closer to the dragon with no weapons in my hands and no way to defend myself.
And the dragon, displaying impeccable timing, I might add Broke through a wall in the keep. If I ever find my birth mother I'll be sure to thank her for fireproofing me. Dunmer blood was quite handy sometimes. Rolling out of the torrent of flame that shot from its gaping mouth I jumped down into a ruined tavern below, nearly twisting my ankle on impact.
Running seemed like a good idea now. All I could hear was roaring and scream and the popping of timber on fire.
"This way, prisoner!" called Hadvar from where he was ushering a small child and his father to cover from the black hulking dragon. I did mention there was a dragon, right?
I didn't necessarily trust a man who was fine with executing me, but I was still bound and he had a sword. Maybe he'd at least cut me free. Some hopeful part of my mind also thought he might actually give me a sword. That would be handy.
I followed the soldier through the town, pass screaming townsfolk who fled the flaming buildings, a group of mages in Thalmor armour firing lightning and fire at the dragon. Because fire would bring down a creature that breathed it. I never said High Elves had much in the way of intelligence.
Then Ralof appeared around a corner, by the door to the fortified Helgen Keep. Ralof waved me over, but Hadvar grabbed my arm. I hissed at the Imperial soldier. I had a shot at freedom and I wasn't wasting it. Ralof shoved the man into the mud, grabbing my wrist and the two of us barricaded ourselves in the Keep.
Silently, the Divines bless him, Ralof cut my bonds and I rolled my hands, relishing the freedom of using my joints. He passed me two daggers, a sword and some blue-grey armour rimmed with fur, pointing to a small alcove behind a tapestry before turning his back. Well, isn't that generous? I suddenly felt less like I wanted to throttyle him. Now I had a fighting chance.
As I pulled on the fur boots both Ralof and I turned at the sound of metal clattering against the stone floor of the keep. Imperials. Rough voices echoed off the stone walls, one in particular sounded familiar; as if it had been calling for my execution on moments ago. Ralof signalled for me to take one side of the portcullis style door and I nodded, slipping silently into the shadows.
I heard a key click into place in the lock and couldn't help the small smile that twisted on my lips. The daggers felt as if they were made for my hands, light and fat as I slashed at the first soldier to walk into the room. I noted with grim satisfaction that it was the man who nearly broke my neck ungagging me.
It was a brief victory, however, as I suddenly found myself face to face with the Redguard Captain. She snarled at me and I just grinned, enjoying the fight and the adrenaline spike. My friends in Vivec always said I had a violent streak that leant itself more to the Dark Brotherhood than thievery, and perhaps they were right. There was just something exhilarating about matching your skills ahgainst another and coming out the victor.
The Redguard was well-trained, as most Redguards were. Like the Nords, Redguards only knew fighting. It was ingrained in their culture and psych, like deviousness and thievery was ingrained into Dunmer, and cannabilism and tree worship in Bosmers.
Suddenly there was a break in concentration as her other soldier fell and I took my opportunity, slashing her throat in a whirl of blade and blood. Her scream was silenced as my dagger cut through her vocal chords, her body twitching on the ground in a heap of Imperial amour and dark skin.
Ralof nodded in appreciation and we ran the other way, deep into the escape tunnel that led well under some monstrous mountain fighting through Imperials and beasts alike till the sunlight blinded us on the other side.
Ralof seemed to relax, a smile breaking across his face and I noticed how young he was, younger than me for sure. Perhaps two or three and twenty.
"I can't believe we made it," he sighed. I shrugged. I had to admit I was surprised, too. Afterall and exection with no trial wasn't something I'd encountered before, and I said as much. Ralof nodded sadly.
"That is what Skyrim has become since the Great War," he sighed. "It is that very injustice that Ulfric Stormcloak fights against. You should go to Windhelm, friend, and join the fight. I know you are no Nord, but you clearly have no love for the Empire." I nodded at that. No one could accuse the Dark Elves of being Imperial-lovers, except of course my birth mother, whoever she was.
"You are rather strange for a Dunmer, if you don't mind me saying so," said Ralof sometime down the long mountain trail that led to a village called Riverwood. I shrugged. It was true enough.
I had silver blonde hair that fell straight down my back from its high ponytail. I had the same greyish blue skin of the Dunmer, but a very human nose and pale green eyes. Considering Dunmer had red, black or white eyes, that was enough to make me stand out.
"My father was an Imperial," I said by way of explanation. Ralof seemed to take that and kept silent. "Have you heard of Riften?" he made a face at that.
"Yes, I have. It is the capital of the Rift Hold to the south-east, bordering Morrowind and Cyrodiil. It is overrun with thieves and corruption. Not the best place to travel to." Ralof turned a curios blue eye my way. "Why?"
"That is where I was born and where my parents are from. I was travelling there when I was caught by the soldiers." Ralof nodded, letting out a breath.
"Well it would make the most sense," he said shrugging. At my confusion he elaborated. "After that last big eruption plenty of refugees came to Skyrim from Morrowind. The majority settled in either Windhelm or Riften, the two cities closest to the border. I doubt you'd be from Windhelm, since there is very little mixing of the different races that call the City of Kings home. Riften, however, is a melting pot of culture and if ever there was a Dunmer-Imperial couple it would be in Riften." I nodded, cementing the town in my mind. That is where I was headed. Dragon or no.
