Author's note: I don't own anything from The Elder Scrolls Series and I definitely don't own Skyrim or Bethesda Softworks. I don't own the majority off characters in this story either.
The Dragonborn's Come
And stories have told of black wings in the cold
That come unfurled when brothers wage war
Alduin, Eater of Worlds, will rise and enslave the earth
A figure moved towards the peak, a blizzard howling around him. He neither shivered nor showed even the slightest bit of discomfort despite the thin black robes he was wearing. As his muscular frame drifted forward, a view fit for a king emerged. It seemed as if the entire world lay before the man, with far away mountains and even the brown splotch of a distant city obscuring the otherwise pristine landscape. To his right stood a wall, broken and old but still strong. A roar came from above and a mighty dragon swooped down from the heavens to perch atop the old wall. As the figure finally managed to reach the plateau upon where the wall stood, the blizzard fell away, revealing the most minute detail in the blazing sunlight. The figure hesitated for a second under the onslaught of light, before moving confidently towards the wall and the dragon once again. The dragon jumped from his perch and started towards the figure. "Parthanax, I have returned with the Elder Scroll as instructed. What would you have me do now?" The figure proclaimed. The dragon lifted his mighty head towards the figure and snorted. "Look around Duvakin, once your eyes open you will know where to go and what to do. The figure nodded to this and glanced around him, his face never once revealed beneath his hood. Off to the side of the plateau was a swirl of snow and wind. As the figure, Duvakin, walked over it became obvious that the swirl was not the last remnants of the blizzard, as was assumed. Every snowflake was paused, stopped in mid-air by some incredible magic. Even the wind, a constant presence on the mountain seemed to have paused in that spot. The figure moved towards the spot and came to a rest in the dead centre of the frozen storm. Duvakin reached into a pouch at his side and carefully pulled out a metal sheathed cylinder. It manipulated the cylinder and it seemed to roll out. The writing on the scroll was strange, written in some obscure, ancient language. The words seemed to burn the air around the scroll. A bright light flared up and blended together, moving outward, consuming everything.
John woke panting. The light seemed burned into his retina even through his dream. He shook his head and blinked, clearing his eyes. He threw off the sheet covering him and rolled out of bed. Another boring day at school filled with uninteresting subjects and even more uninteresting people. John wasn't a very social person, despite his looks. He didn't trust people as a whole and much preferred the company of his dog, Ivy. She was a Border Collie, just old enough to stay at home without pining for her master. As John moved towards his wardrobe, Ivy stood up from her cushion at the foot of his bed and shook herself. She tottered over to say good morning as he lay his school clothes out on his bed. After giving Ivy a quick pat, he shuffled into the kitchen, still half asleep, and hunted down his breakfast. While waiting for his toast he gathered Ivy's stuff and poured her some dog food for morning meal. As soon as John was appropriately clothed, cleaned and fed he tiptoed past his mother's door on the way down the hall. She usually didn't wake for another hour and John was loath to upset her. His mother worked her fingers to the bone cleaning their large house, washing clothes and looking after his dog so he tried to keep out of her way as much as possible. His father was already off to work so John didn't really have to worry about him. John successfully made his way to the front door and opened it. A blur of black and white zoomed past him as Ivy made her way outside for her morning toilet break and explore. From out of nowhere his vision went red at the edges and he felt a strong tugging sensation from the very core of his being. He dropped to his knees as his head felt like it was being ripped open. The red around his vision expanded and formed a vortex of black and crimson, swirling in front of him. Panicking, John tried to stand up, push back or run but he couldn't move. It was as if the vortex had it's own gravitational field and was sucking him in. The pull strengthened and he was swept, head-first, into oblivion.