Zii do fin Strun, Sil do Zoorre (Spirit of the Storm, Soul of Legends)
Disclaimer: I don't own squat. Nothing. Nadda. Everything present is property of Bethesda Softworks and/or ZeniMax Entertainment. Einherjar is a character archetype based on my first play through, while most of the other original character's are based around archetypes created by other people.
Prologue
A mournful wind blew from the east, chilling her to the bone under the watchful stars. No matter how she held her cloak, the bitter autumn breeze slithered its way into its folds, holding her in a mockery of a warm embrace. Siona tried to wrap the thick, green tarp around her tall, slender frame enough for overlap, but her bow always got in the way; and as much as she hated the cold, she wasn't going to let a stray sabercat catch her without a weapon ready.
She had worried that the plains and hills of Rorikstead would lead to violent storms, but she never imagined how cold the windchill of a clear, late autumn night in western Whiterun Hold could be. If she had a mirror, she wouldn't be surprised to find her lips, normally a shade darker than her chocolate Redguard skin, turned blue, and the cheeks normally framed well by high cheekbones, to becomes drawn in and pale. Her black hair, turned in for a bop around her jawline, started to intrude into her vision. She resisted the urge to move it out of the way, despite how she was going to advertise herself as a freelance mercenary, she knew allure was still important in the profession.
It wasn't entirely a false claim, as she had been an adventurer for ten years until her sister died, leaving her to raise her neice, Addy.
She continued on, through the bitting wind, through the forelorn thoughts. Across moons-lit pastures that were more rock than dirt, over logs crossing rivers she didn't dare swim through in the cold, she continued what she always did, putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to worry about the step after that. She tried not to worry, because she was never sure what she could and could not do; not now, not eight years back. Siona the Dragon Slayer, not a dream but an obligation to those she could protect. If she could protect them. Surely even the almighty dragons could be felled with an arrow to the heart, and she could hit a hawk in flight on a moonless night at two hundred meters. At least, she could eight years ago.
She wasn't sure when she began to see the lights of Rorikstead, only knowing she had fewer and fewer steps on the cold, hard ground before she could rest. She hadn't lived in Skyrim during her adventuring days, but she couldn't help but think that long nights traveling in the Jerral Mountains didn't drain her a decade back. Eventually, she lit a torch so that any guards would see her approach and not make her for a bandit.
In the milky moonlight, she could see shapes, but couldn't always tell if they were houses, stables, or mounds. There could have been eighty houses, there could have been a dozen, doubtless there were many more in the farms that surrounded villages like this. The lights were few and far between, but she could tell most were being held by people.
Her torch caused several lights to stop, assessing her. When she passed the outermost houses, one of which had the smell of a smithy, she was greeted by three guards bearing the Steed herald of Whiterun Hold, each holding a lantern.
"State your business." One of them demanded.
"Siona of Falkreath, passing through on my way to Solitude to join the Legion." She opened her cloak to show her unremarkable leather armor and elven bow so they knew what she was carrying. She considered her 'reason' close enough to the truth. She didn't want to be laughed at for thinking she could help quell the dragon threat.
"Very well." The guard stated, satisfied with her answer. "The Frostfruit Inn is over there." He pointed to a large building, the only one nearby that had candles lighting the door.
She thanked the guard, and made a bee-line to the inn. As she pushed the door open, she felt a wall of hot air pour over her. Inside, she found two Nords at the table, the older one wearing an apron appropriate for a barkeep.
She made her way to the table, sat down on a stool and asked for stew, warm mead, and if there was a bed vacant. "Of course" the barkeep answered, "we normally don't have many visitors outside of harvest. The dragons brought in a lot of travelers at first, believing the larger cities will protect them, but gods be praised we haven't seen one of those demons. I have some mead still warm, but the stew will take some time to make up."
"Thank you." She said, while pulling out her coin purse. She paid the man, who introduced himself as Mralki, and paid the amount he asked for.
"I'll make sure the bed's ready" said the much younger man sitting at the bar before he stood and moved to an adjacent room. Siona sensed some tension between him and the Innkeeper, and dismissed the curiosity that came with it just as quickly. Between sips of her mead, he held the glass bottle to warm her hands.
"So" she began conversationally as Mralki moved from stirring the stew to cleaning the countertop, "any chance you hosted the Dragonborn in here?"
He gave out a single billowing laugh, "I can only imagine. If he has, he never spoke a word of himself to anyone here. When travelers come, gossip nearly splits our seams."
She gave a half-smile. "I'll guard what I say, then." She took a longer swig of her mead, now starting to feel it warming her belly and face.
She thought about unstringing her bow when a guard burst through the door. "Mralki" he shouted, "A dragon! A dragon is coming toward the village. Take Erik and get into the cellar, quick!"
Ignoring the cold it would bring, Siona unlatched her cloak, letting it pool around her feet, grabbed her bow and ran after the guard. Outside, she nocked an arrow, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark. Before they could, she was blinded by white fire falling on a house. The source of the fire moved through the village with the speed that put a sprinting stallion to shame.
She couldn't see the beast behind the halo of that bright fire, but she could estimate as she pulled the fletch to her hair-drapped cheek. Adjusting for distance and the speed the dragon soared, she loosed an arrow, and without waiting to find out if it connected, she nocked another one.
Three more she unleashed as the dragon bobbed and weaved through the village fast enough that she fought to track it when the dragon stopped breathing fire, leaving it wreathed in darkness. Fletch to her cheek, she scanned around to find where the beast had gone. By this time, the village was lit by a dozen fires, lighting the cobblestone roads and guards searching as desperately as she was, with everything else in darkness.
A loud thwump was all the warning she got as a blast of air nearly knocked her over. She regained her balance enough to turn, and saw a massive, jagged form above the Inn. It was thin, not as bulky as she imagined they would be, with large, bone-like spikes and smaller, smoother scales. The thwump hit her again as the dragon flapped its wings one more time before landing its two legs on top of the Inn.
She saw a line of thicker scales running down its chest, lined on the sides with argonian-like skin. It was into this softer flesh that she loosed an arrow, as a half dozen others joined her. Her arrow struck true, but did not dig enough to bury the entire arrowhead; most of the arrows shot by the guards simply bounced off.
The dragon pulled it's head back, as if preparing to lunge, and she knew what it was doing. She said a quick prayer to Mara, asking that her niece be protected without her. "Yol" the dragon spoke, and Siona turned away from the blindingly bright fire.
When she felt no pain, she opened her eyes to see fire on her sides, but with an untouched path in front of her. Stopping the flames was the silhouette of a man projecting a magical ward in his hand. In his other hand he held a sword Siona absently noted for being in the ancient nordic style, and his armor reflected much of the light but appeared to be made of green and yellow glass. She could see little of his bare head, other than the outline of blonde hair.
The ward in his left hand disappeared as he reached for the second, identical sword at his hip. The dragon pulled its head back again when the man shouted, "Wuld nah kest!"
The dragon's head snapped back as the man shot through the air like one of her arrows, ramming into the beast's face. From there he jumped in the air and shouted again, "Fo krah diin!" Frost magic shot out of his mouth, pushing him higher into the air and hitting the dragon like a deluge of snow heavy enough to cause the inn's roof to nearly cave in.
The man landed in a crouch, plunging both swords into the ground, then shot off several rapid volleys of lightning magic into the dragon's face, causing it to let out several short roars of pain.
"Fus ro dah!" the dragon shouted, a blue lined bubble of energy slamming into the man and pushing him back so hard his feet dug trenches in the dirt. The dragon took off from the inn's roof with a leap, flapping to keep itself in the air. "Yol toor shul!" it shouted, unleashing a torrent of fire toward a congregation of half a dozen guards and townsfolk.
At the same time, the man shouted, "Tiid klo ul!" Siona couldn't see what he did after that, just the flames engulfing the street. When the fires subsided, she saw no bodies left. She then noticed on the other side of the scorched ground, in an alley between two houses were the guards and villagers, on the ground behind the armored man.
After a moment looking at the people he somehow saved, the man ran back out into the street, through the fires, and yelled, "Krii lun aus" A wave of energy hit the dragon, causing it's vains to glow blue. The dragon gave off a keening roar and landed, clearly in pain. The man charged, yelling, "Su grah dun" causing the air to shimmer and swirl around his swords.
"Rii vaaz zol" the dragon shouted, in a pained, almost pitiful voice.
"Feim" the man shouted. His body became wisps of mist that the dragon's dark energy passed right through him. The man's incorporealness vanished right as he swung his swords at the dragon's head. Sparks from blue fire shot out, along with several large scales and a few teeth as the swords cut, no, shattered the dragon's flesh and bone where it hit, the enchantments on the blades flashing along with the sparks.
The dragon pulled its head back, rearing back on its legs to create distance between them. The man threw one of his swords into the dragon's thigh, the blade sinking deep into flesh and causing sparks of blue flame. Unable to maintain its standing position, the dragon held its body off the ground with its wings, one of which it swung at the man. He spun around, the blade moving through the air much faster than it should have, and cleaved right through the thick bone in the wing. As the dragon roared in pain, the man ran toward the dragon's leg, pushing his sword the rest of the way through the wing to cut it completely off. He then pulled out his other sword, and made a series of impossibly fast cuts to the dragon's leg, showering the area with blue sparks, scales, flesh, and blood. With a finally war cry, the man cleaved through the bone, severing the leg off completely.
The dragon rolled over, trying feebly to get away from the man, this simple mortal who had systematically crippled the most terrifying monster Siona had ever seen. As it keened and pathetically tried to get away from him, Siona felt a sense of pity for the wounded, pained beast.
Unable to roll farther away due to a house in the way, the dragon looked at the man, its face and jaw ruin, it managed to say in an almost pleading tone, "dovahkiin."
"Wuld nah kest" the man shouted, and slammed into the dragon's chest hard enough to push it against the house wall, his twin swords slammed up to the hilts in its breast, the entry points burning with blue flame.
There was no last cry, no last roar, the dragon's body just went slack as it breathed it's last.
With a sound akin to crackling kindling, the man with glass armor pulled his swords out of the beast, and Siona got her first good look at him. At first she couldn't put an age on him. Then with a start she realized he was much younger than she expected, no older than twenty five at most, but his pale face, bloodshot eyes with dark circles under them, and his short, dirty blond hair was slick with grease and as unkempt as bedhair, spoke of someone exhausted and near his breaking point. Was this the heroic dragonborn that was supposed to save them all?
As he walked away from the corpse behind him, the dragon's skin broke into tiny flames and light flew from the remaining bones and into the dragonborn. The man's steps became labored, his breath quickened. She thought the dragon's power was hurting him, until he threw back his head and gave off a roar that was more beastial than human.
Siona noticed the villagers starting to mill around her, looking at this avatar of Akatosh that came to save them. None of them spoke, only stared on as the man breathed heavily, his back hunched and knees bent. He looked like a beast then, lowly growling with pent up aggression.
Nobody dared to approach him, whether from reverence or fear, Siona wasn't sure. Nearly a minute passed and nobody moved. A small movement, and the dragonborn seemed to see them for the first time. His entire demenor changed, his back straightened and his shoulders went back. He was tall, even for a nord, with long limbs and a slender figure complementing his high cheekbones and narrow jaw, and with his light blue eyes he looked the part of a regal nobleman in spite of the hollowed cheeks and unhealthy pallor.
Then, without a word, he turned and continued down the road toward Dragonbridge. The citizens around Siona seemed confused, unsure what to do, but the Redguard knew what she had to do. Taking off at a run she quickly caught up with the dragonborn at the village limits and stepped in front of him.
"Hail, Dragonborn" she announced. The man didn't say anything, just stared at her with impatient, dead eyes. "I wish to enlist in your services."
"No" he immediately said in a deadpan voice, then stepped around her to continue down the road.
"Wait" she called out, moving in front of him again, but walking backwards so she wouldn't get pushed out of the way. "I can help, I'll do whatever I can to-"
"Back off!" he barked, causing Siona to jump. "Meyye unslaad, there's no end to you, is there? Krosis dezi, but my fate is my own. No one should follow me where I go, wunduniik"
Unsure what he was saying, Siona said the only thing that came to her mind. "And where are you going?"
"Krii bormahi, I going to kill my father."
So stunned by that answer, Siona stopped in her tracks, and the Dragonborn walked right around her as if she were a pile of dung on the road. His responce answered nothing, only raising more questions than she could ask. She left to find him so she could fight, not get thrown to the curb.
"What about the dragons?" She asked, his back to her. "Aren't you going to stop them?"
That made the man stop. "Stop them?" He asked, as if mulling a new idea through his head. "Why should I? Pogaan miraadde wah zind."
Siona took an instinctive step away from the man, no longer trusting the man's sanity. "It's your destiny, isn't it? As the dragonborn, you'll destroy the dragons for good."
"Oblaan pah dov?" He appeared to mull over that for a second. "Very well, do you have skill with that bow, wunduniik?"
Suddenly excited for his change in mood, she showed off the bow proudly. "I used to be called Siona the Red Arrow because of my skill. My father took this bow off a high elf officer he killed in the Hammerfell resistence."
"A fine weapon" the Dragonborn commented. "Now, prove your skill, and kill me with it."
Siona's heart skipped a beat, hardly believing what she was hearing him say.
"My body's that of a mortal, but my soul is that of a dragon" the man said when she failed to make a coherent reply. "Akatosh made a mistake gifting mortals with dragon souls, damning us to become tyrants" he walked toward her, filling her with dread. "Tiber Septim, Reman Cyrodiil, Alessia, all were blood thirsty, power hungry conquerers who we deify for their tyranny, fueled by the same dragon blood flowing through my veins" he stopped with his face towering over hers. "Would you end me in order to protect this world?"
Siona suddenly felt very small, very weak. She hadn't felt nearly this much fear when the dragon came after her. This man, this...creature, if he was what Skyrim was placing all it's hopes on...
"I thought so" he said before turning and continuing down the road.
He couldn't be the dragonborn, he couldn't be the legendary hero. But if he wasn't, then who was he? "Who are you?" Siona found herself whispering.
The man stopped one more time. "That's a good question, wunduniik" he said, turning his head to see her. "Einherjar, Hjalti, Junvomir, Dovahkiin, take your pick" resuming his walk, he stated without looking back, "Besides, what's a name but another lie?"
And he never looked back.
End of Prologue
Author's Note: so, this is my second attempt at this story. The first time I only had a vague outline of a story, and one major plothole (basically, I had a villain who did certain horrible things that I could NOT put a motivation behind, so I scrapped him). This is the first story of mine where I really made a detailed outline of events, motivations, and character analysis. Hopefully it works out.
And be warned, I've been fighting chronic procrastination my whole life so don't expect consistent updates.
