Chapter 1

It had been going so well. The border seemed quiet as he approached, the light snow silently covering the ground. There were no birds singing, no insects chirruping. Maybe these northlands were as barren as they said.

Then, out of the bushes, five well-armed imperial soldiers leapt and immediately surrounded him. He thought about fleeing, but the notion left him when he saw several more emerge, their swords glinting maliciously in the morning light.

Now he sat in the back of a cart, bound and beside two Stormcloaks and a horse thief. He heard enough of their conversation to discern the identity of the man next to him; it was none other than Ulfric Stormcloak himself.

He didn't much care. He was too preoccupied with his impending incarceration or possibly execution to be concerned with the petty politics of these northern barbarians. The cart stopped in a small walled town he heard the Stormcloaks call "Helgen". One by one, they hopped out, lining up for identification.

"…Empire loves their damn lists." muttered one of the Stormcloaks.

The horse thief tried to run, shouting "You're not going to kill me!" but he was swiftly cut down by an arrow. "You there," called an Imperial, "Who are you?"

He stepped forward, looking the soldier dead in the eye.

"My name is Verion Tannius." On the outside he was the picture of calm, but his mind was in turmoil. He could see the headsman preparing his axe. He was going to be executed; but how had they known? Had someone talked, double crossed him? He'd been assured these new contacts were the best in Tamriel. What had gone wrong?

He had been crossing into Skyrim for… business reasons. He was, by trade, a criminal. Primarily a drug dealer, but in his time, Verion had done every kind of nefarious activity one could think of. He'd stole, he'd burned, and even murdered. And now it seemed he was going to pay for it.

His previous organisation had been falling apart internally for some time when their headquarters in the Cyrodiil countryside had been raided by the Imperial guard. Of the twenty or so members, only two survived, including Verion. He and the other survivor, Carolan, had fled. Only after they were far from the scene did Carolan reveal he had betrayed them and tipped off the Guard. Verion was forced to kill him, then and there.

He laid low in Bruma for several weeks, until a mysterious letter was deliverd to him by courier. It detailed the activities of another organisation based out of Skyrim, calling themselves "The Night". They dealt in the same activities as his old group, but on a seemingly larger scale. At the end of the letter it said "We know of the unfortunate events that befell your previous organisation, and would like to extent to you an invitation to start work with us. We have been watching you for some time, and believe that you would make an excellent asset to our ranks. If you are interested, simply give this letter back to the courier who gave it to you. We will then contact you to confirm and begin the next step."

Beneath that, it was simply signed "The Night".

Verion was cautious. It seemed too good to be true. A larger, ostensibly better group asking for him. It was very strange that they should be so open about it. Nevertheless, he was intrigued by the offer, and he had few skills other than crime. Making a snap decision, he threw open the door to find the courier, only to find him standing right outside where Verion had left him. The courier simply raised his eyebrows. Verion handed him the letter and the courier smiled, then strode off, leaving Verion standing in the doorway, quivering from the shock. He would soon be back in the game.

"You're a long way from the Imperial city," said the soldier, snapping Verion out of his reverie. "Captain, he's not on the list."

Not on the list? Verion's mind raced. They didn't know who he was. Why had they picked him up then, if they didn't know of his reason for crossing the border? Whatever the case, it didn't matter; very soon his head would be in a basket. Unless..

"Forget the list, he goes to the block." Replied the Captain, immediately crushing Verion's hope of a pardon because of his unknown motives. They moved over towards the headsman, and the Military Governor, Tullius, was strutting around like a preening rooster, taunting Ulfric. Verion wished they would just hurry up. The waiting was awful. Suddenly, there was a noise like thunder, reverberating off the mountains. A few voiced alarm over it, but they were shushed by the soldiers, who dismissed it as nothing.

The priestess began to read their last rites, but interrupted by a Stormcloak.

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!"

"As you wish."

The smug Captain bent him down upon the block with her foot, and the executioner readied his axe.

"My ancestors are smiling at-"

Before he could finish his sentence, the axe severed his head, and it rolled into the bucket with a sickening thud. "Disgusting," thought Verion "Allow a man his last words at least."

He was next to be called to the block. He thought of telling the Captain that this was all a mistake, but decided against it. He didn't want to look weak in his final moments. There was another blast of that same thunder, louder this time. It almost sounded like a roar. More people looked up and wondered aloud what it was, but they were again quieted by the soldiers.

He felt her foot on his back, and he was pushed down onto the bloody, sticky block. He had no last words, nothing to say. At least he had a view of the sky. Suddenly, as the axe was about to come down on his neck, an great rumble was felt, and Verion saw some great... thing land on the tower beside him. Black, monstrous. The headsman has shaken off his feet by it's cacophonous roar, and Verion quickly stood up. Only then did he properly see it.

It was a dragon of immense size, black spines piercing the very air. Immediately, it was clear to all that this was not a creature of this world. And for a split second, it seemed to stare Verion straight in the eyes.

That was too much. As hardened as he was, Verion bolted, into the keep, dead ahead of him. He heard the dragon take to the air one more, sending tremendous gusts of wind in all directions. He slammed the wooden door behind him, for all the good that would do. And took a deep breath. How had he gotten into this situation?

A few days after he sent The Night's letter back, another arrived. It instructed him to meet with one of their agents, Ysolda, in Whiterun, and to pack lightly. He was moving to Skyrim. Within hours, he was ready to leave. Since the raid, he had no connections, no friends. There were no goodbyes to make. He left early the next morning for the border, eager to get back in business, but also cautious.

That caution had proven well founded. An imperial ambush, an narrowly missed beheading, and a damn dragon. Even now, Verion could hear it unleashed hellish, fiery breath, ravaging the town, drowning out the screams.

He had to escape.

He ran out into a narrow hallway, which spiralled downwards. In the room below he could hear a fight. Peeping down, he saw several Stormcloaks engaged in a bloody battle with a single old Imperial, who was holding them off his lightning bolts from his hands. However, he was overwhelmed, and within a few seconds, there was a greatsword protruding from his chest. Satisfied, the Stormcloaks ran out into a tunnel, exposed by a crumbled wall.

Verion waited a minute to make sure the coast was clear, the proceeded down into the room. His mind was so focused on survival that he barely noticed the blood covering most of the room. Quickly searching the old man, he found nothing of value save for his boots. Verion pulled them hastily on, replacing his ragged footwraps. He stood up and noticed a small satchel on a nearby table. Grabbing it and opening the flap, he saw there were a handful of Septims, a small piece of bread, a slightly dull dagger some beef in it. "Perfect"

He slung it over his shoulder and hurried down the tunnel, hoping he wouldn't encounter anyone else. He continued down several more corridors, finding only bodies. In a storeroom he found a few more Septims and a single healing potion, which he threw into the bag. In the next room there was a fierce fight raging between a group of soldiers and the Stormcloaks. They were so focused on the battle, Verion was able to slip right past them, and into the next area.

It was a large cave, covered in enormous cobwebs. Gulping, Verion hoped that didn't mean what he thought it did. Unfortunately, it did. As he inched forward at a much slower pace, his fears were realised; a huge spider, six feet across descended from the cave ceiling, it's gigantic chelicerae twitching hungrily. For the second time, Verion ran. Right past the spider, out of the cave and kept going.

He ran through yet another tunnel, but this one was different; there was light at the end. He was nearly out. Encouraged, he redoubled his pace and finally reached the mouth of the tunnel.

Stepping out into the light, he blinked a few times blinded by the sun. Looking around, Verion saw he was surrounded by a thin pine forest. A small dirt path led down a slope away from him. In the distance, there were many mountains, the closest of which was adorned with a massive set of stone arches. But before Verion could set off, he felt the ground rumble, and ducked in fear as the monstrous black dragon swooped over him. But it did.t notice him, and flew swiftly off beyond a distant mountain range.

Relieved, Verion took a short moment to review. It was funny to think that that dragon had, in a way, saved his life. "A second later, and it would have been roaring at a head in a bucked" he thought. Verion suddenly realised he hadn't eaten in days. Reaching into the bag, he pulled out some bread, and ate as he began walking. He still needed to get to Whiterun. As unbelievable as the day had already been, he was nothing if not pragmatic. As far as he was concerned, nothing had changed; he had tried to get into Skyrim, and he was now, by an incredibly difficult and circuitous route, in Skyrim.

Further down the slope, he came to a carved wooden sign, pointing to Riverwood. Verion turned at the river in the direction of what he assumed to be a small town or village. He needed clothes, fresh foo, and most importantly, a map.

Continuing down the pleasantly sun light and leafy road, he saw Riverwood a few hundred metres away. It was indeed a small village. Suddenly, a thought crossed him; "What if somebody got here before me?" He reassured himself that nobody knew who he was or why he was actually there. Nevertheless, he would be wary.

Stepping into the village, Verion headed straight for the general shop, denoted by the large sign saying "Riverwood Trader". He pushed open the door and was greeted by a small shrewish man.

"Welcome to the Riverwood Trader. What can I do for you?"

"Hello," said Verion "I was just looking to buy some supplies."

"Certainly, what sort of supplies do you need?"

"A map, a set of clothes, and a few days food and water." Said Verion.

The shopkeeper looked around for a moment. He went over to a shelf, returning with a small map of Skyrim, one set of somewhat worn clothes and enough food and water for a day or two. Setting all this down on the counter, he cleared his throat and said "That'll be sixty three Septims please."

Verion reached into the satchel and his heart sank. He slowly pulled out the meagre coinage and set it on the counter, disheartened.

"That's…" said the man, counting "Seventeen Septims."

Verion, saddened, turned to lave, but the shopkeeper said "Wait." He stared at Verion long and hard before pushing the supplies towards him. "Take them. And take your money too."

Verion looked at him, surprised, "Are you… are you serious?" In truth, Verion had ben considering whether to rob the merchant at dagger point.

"Yeah. You look like you've been through a lot."

Verion stuffed the supplies into his bag, and shook the man's hand. "Thank you," he said "I'll repay this kindness someday."

The man smiled and said "I look forward to that day.

Verion stepped onto the road, clad in his new clothes. They fitted well enough, and they came with a hood, which was a bonus. Checking the map again, he set off towards Whiterun. It was time to get back in business.

Thanks for reading. This is just a short note to address an important issue: This fanfic takes an amount of inspiratin from the TV show, Breaking Bad. Note that it's not a "Skyrim version" or any kind of copy or tribute. I have not used any actual ideas from the show, nor do I make reference to it other than this note. There may be slight similarities, but that is due only to inspiration, not ripping off. I hope this won't be an issue.

Thanks,

SIGMA