I wanted to make a story with meaning and with more detail then my past stories, so I made this. There may be considerable time between chapters, but they will be long. Anyways here we go. Please review and follow + favourite if you want me to write more often. Thanks!
Chapter 1 Greatness From Small Beginnings
Frontar sat at a small wooden table, muching on some half eaten bread. He was a slave for the inn of Old Hrodan. It had a hundred years of history. It was the sight were Tiber Septim slept before his first battle, but that is an entirely different story, one Frontar knew well. He was eating the leftovers of a patron their. That was all he was aloud to eat, leftovers. "Frontar!" Called the voice of his owner, Herdar. He was violent with the boy, who was only eight years old.
"Get out and start chopping wood. Stop eating." He barked at Frontar. He then slapped the boy. "Yes sir." He replied without resistance while he clutched his red cheek. He knew if he resisted it would only lead to punishment. He grabbed an axe from a pile of hay that he had been earlier using to thatch a broken part of the roof and walked outside.
He walked out into the unforgiving land that was the Reach. It was very cold, near freezing with gusts of wind, but that did not matter for Frontar. He was born to a wealthy Nord and a sultry barmaid in Riften. His dad left, as he had no interest in a kid, but his mom raised him. That was, until she was killed. Bynjolf, a member of the Theives Guild then took him and sold him as a slave. He remembered him. He was nice, but Mercer Frey, his boss, was relentless. He repeatedly beat him over and over again, throwing him in water when he slept for over 15 minutes.
He began cutting at the wood outside the inn, water trickling on him. This was his life. He heard some horses hooves in the not so far distance. This probably meant a patron, meaning he would be able to come inside. It was good for him, he hated being wet, reminded him of Mercer. He could deal with cold, he was a Nord.
As he cut a few more pieces, he could hear the hooves more clearly. It was more then one person, many more. They rode up within the end of the minute. They wore fur armor, and had sloppy iron blades. seeking with rust and full of chips. The leader spat on the boy. "Go make us some rooms and some soup now whelp!" He barked. Frontnar once again did not resist, being wise to the punishment that would come.
"Boy, why are you inside." Said Herdar. "Their some men outside who asked me to draw them some food and beds." He casually said. He grabbed some fur pelt blankets as the men walked into the inn. They chewed Juniper and spat it out, on the floor. "Hey boy, you been cleaning? Because you missed a spot." The leader laughed. He had a very stupid laugh. He wore a mohawk and red face paint, in an attempt to intimidate people. Frontar grabbed a spare rag and began to clean the spot, and was promptly kicked in the ribs by one of the gang members. It hurt and he shouted in pain. "Shut up boy." Said Herdar. "Now make their beds."
He picked the furs back up and made the beds, as he had done for nearly a year. He noticed that they were one short. "Sir." He said, interupting Herdar who was giving the men some ale. "What." He barked at the the boy. "We are short one bed." "Well did you count your bed boy?" Said Herdar. He never called Frontar by his name, just boy. "No sir, but..." "But what. Since you take your sweet time thatching the roof, you may as well sleep up there!" He laughed. The bandits then picked Frontar up and shoved him outside, slamming the door afterwards, to the thunderous applause and laughter of the gang.
Not only did Frontar not have a way to get up to the roof, he had no blankets or pillow. It was still raining, at this point thundering, lightning clearly visible in the distance. He looked around for some shelter and saw a small portion of the roof that overlapped the inn. It gave him a bit of shelter from the rain, but not much. He fell asleep quickly, cursing Herdar and the gang while he drifted off.
He dreamt of his childhood. When he was a young boy in Riften. He had dreams about his past that answered questions that he often wondered while awake. This was a gift to him from a Priest of Azura who had stayed in the inn. She gave him an amulet of Mara. He never let Herdar see it, knowing he would sell it, so he kept it buried outside.
This particular dream was in Riften. A man with a mohawk and a red face paint was what he first saw. It was a familiar face. He pushed his mom aside who was tending to some patrons as he walked into the inn, but not before kicking over Frontar's toys. His mom used to let people push her around, but not after having a kid. She slapped the man, hard, right on the paint of his face long bearded face. She wiped her now red hand on her dress. It left a mark. Of a claw. It was a nice dress. She then kicked his groin.
He looked at her, after slowly recoiling from the blow. His face started twitching, eyes growing yellow. His eyes expressed hunger. But for what? He grew black as he grew taller and more muscular, a staggering size. Fur quickly grew from his skin, like that of a wolf. He was a were wolf!
Some of the patrons beagan to run, screaming for the guard. The man ripped at his mom, who tried to rip some of his fur out of the beasts back, but the swipe of the claw killed her near instantly. He then clawed Frontar right on the chest, knocking his infant self to the ground. He started to black out, Maramal tending to him, grabbing some potions. He was a local priest. He looked as the guard, Taral, who acted as Frontar's father in his real one's abscense, was slaughtered by the beast trying to stop the onslaught. He started to black out after that. This signalled the end of his dream.
He awoke a short while later to a deafening howl, louder then the lightning that was hanging around the inn. It haunted him, the howl, eerily familiar. He dared himself to peer inside the window. He stood on the tips of his toes, upon a rock to look in as he wasn't tall. He saw the bandits, transforming into werewolves, and killing Herdar ripping him to shreds as they tore away at him.
As much as he despised him, he did not want to see him die. He ran to the wood chopping block and grabbed the woodcutting axe. He ran inside the inn. He looked at the werewolf on top of Herdar. He wanted to make the blow count. He took aim, putting the axe behind his head, and swung with all his might. He connected with the werewolves face. It howled and turned it's gaze. Herdar was still screaming, his guts hanging out.
Two of the thugs grabbed Frontar. He struggled to escape their grasp, but his effort was in vain. The werewolf rose it's claw and with one swift movement, slashed Frontar's chest right open. He fell to the ground, slowly blacking out. He saw the werewolf slowly transform back into a human. It was the one with the mohawk and red face paint. Then, it hit him. It was the one who had killed his mother!
He began to talk with the others, but Frontar blacked out. He was destined to die. Nobody would come to Hrodan, they rarely did. He began to accept his death. He went into a semi-consciouss state. What an end. A life of misery and slavery ending in violence.
"Wake child." Came a deafening voice, but he still saw only black. "Who is it." Was all he could muster. "I am Azura, Daedric lord of Dusk and Dawn. You shall be alright, you will make it thru this. That is, as long as you pledge serve me." He moaned in his state. "Yes my lord." He said. Then the black overtook him.
"Wake up boy." Came a soothing voice. "Who... are you?" Frontar said as he slowly came to, the blackness slowly going away. He was much more stronger then when he had been clawed by the werewolf, but was still weak. He was up on a very high place. "I am Azura's faithful. I forsaw you in the inn, and Azura sent me. I have since nursed you back to health." She said. "Here." She said, handing him a glass of tea and a bowl of apple-cabbage soup with bread. He nodded and started chowing down. He had been very hungry. He quickly made a dent in the meal. "Eat up. Said the priestess. "You haven't had anything to eat since the attack, you need the nutrients." She said. He laughed. He hadn't eaten since days before the attack. Well, other then the leftover bread. He wondered how long he was unconscious for. It was snowing around him, so he was far from Hrodan. At least Haafingar.
He sat at the table finishing the meal. It was good. He usually got frosbite spider meat, very chewy and bitter. He got it once or twice a week. It was terrible but dirt cheap. Just like Herdar, terrible but dirt cheap. He looked around for him. He must have been dead , he wasn't around. He noticed a huge towering statue near him. He continued to eat while the priestess reached a hand to her head, as if she was experiencing a headache. She approached the boy. "Azura. She wishes to commune with you." She said, looking him in the eye. He finished his mouthful of stew and walked towards the alter, wiping his mouth. "Put your hand on the altar."
He places it on the altar, and felt a weird tingle go through his body. "Greetings child. You promised to serve me, so I have saved you. Now, what will you do boy?" Said Azura. "I don't know." He said. "Hmmm. No ambition is it? Fine. I have a task for you." "What is it?" He asked. "You will find the my star. Speak to a mage, based out of Winterhold. Arane will send you in the right direction." "Yes my lady." Said Frontar "And you shall go alone." Said Azura.
"What?" He asked timidly, but she was gone already. "What did she say youngling?" Asked Aranea. "She said I must seek a mage, based out of Winterhold. Alone." He added. "Alone. Are you sure?" She asked. "Yes. Very sure. Azura said so." "Well if that is her will. Here, take these they will help you on your journey."
She reached into a nearby crate and handed him some supplies. It was a pair of robes with a conjuration enchantment, lined with fur for warmth. Their were also some fur boots, hide bracers, and a hood, with a magicka enchantment on it, along with some gloves. There was also a iron dagger, with a heat enchantment for defense. Then their was a small knapsack and a small sack. Inside the knapsack were 7 books, a sleeping bag, a fur pelt and some metal poles to make a makeshift tent. There was a few apples, some spiced meat, a head of cabbage, some water, and a few ingredients inside the sack. Their was also a small coin purse with 20 septims in it.
After peering thru the bag, he looked at her and said "Thanks." "Be careful out there." She said. "It's dangerous out there." "I will." Frontar replied. He lifted the sack upon his shoulder and got on the way to Winterhold. He looked at the map and decided to take a route down the mountain and around the road to Winterhold. A simple route. Winterhodl appeared small, unlike Markarth and Riften, the two major cities he had ever been to.
He decided to pear into the bag to pass the time for his journey. He grabbed the first book. It read on the cover, A Herbalist's Guide to Skyrim. He glanced through the first few pages.
By Agneta Falia
Those avoiding this northern province due to claims of barbarism or concerns over climate are doing themselves a disservice; in fact Skyrim has a wealth of materials that every Alchemist would do well to avail himself of. I have traveled extensively throughout this land, and here are but a few of my findings.
Bleeding Crown
The caps of these mushrooms do indeed appear smeared with blood, though it is often hard to see in the dark, demp places in which they grow. Not uncommonly found in Skyrim, their abundance is countered by the difficulty in acquiring them. As any experienced herbalist knows, the darkest of caves often conceal far more than mere mushrooms.
Nonetheless, these potent fungi, when combined with certain powdered antlers, produce a mixture rendering one quite susceptible to poison. Their usefulness is also quite apparent when mixed with Lavender, creating a substance highly resistant to magic.
While Skyrim may not be full of mages, it could prove useful to make money by making potions. Most general goods stores would buy them. He continued to read as he steadily walked the snow covered trail, memorizing the usefulness of all the ingredients, and collecting any ingredients along the way, putting them onto an apocrethy satchel, an attachment to his robes. After about an hour or so of walking, he saw a guard.
He thought to himself 'Is this Winterhold?' The spot was tiny. He would find out soon enough.
As he approached the site he realized it was just a mine. "Is this Winterhold?" He asked to the lone guard outside the mine, wondering if it was Winterhold. He was very confused. "Ha. No. It's Whisling mine my boy. And what's a boy like you doing off all alone anyways?" Asked the Guard. "Im on a quest." He said proudly. "I seek a mage." "It's nightfall." Said the Guard. "Go talk to Thorgar, he's the owner of the mine." "OK." Was all Frontar said in reply. He was disappointed the gaurd didn't take more of an interest in his adventure.
He walked into the mine and looked around for Thorgar. He coughed at the hazy air as he entered. Thorgar leaned against a barrel, picking his fingernails with a match. He looked up at Frontar. "Can I help you." he asked bitterly. "I was looking for a place to sleep for the night." Thorgar sighed.
He raised his gaze to look at Frontar."Ain't nobody get's a free ride in Winterhold." He said, returning his gaze to his fingernails. "I thought this was Whisling Mine?" He said. "Ugh." Sighed Thorgar.
"What are you stupid, this is Winterhold hold. Are you even a Nord? Nevermind. Anyways what I'm saying is you mine ore, or go elsewere. I don't care where but not here." "Ok." Was all Frontar said in response, grabbing a pickaxe from the wall. He walked down into the depths of the mind. It was unlike any mine he had ever seen. He had worked in some as a slave, but this one was oddly unique. It was ice on the walls, but had stones peering through the glaciers. It was a weird sight.
He took post next to a fellow miner. He took a few chips at the iron vein while the miner next to Frontar looked at the boy. "What's a little squirt doing mining?" He asked. "Working my ways to a place to sleep." Replied Frontar. "Well your mining on my ore." He said rather bitterly. "Oh. Sorry." He said as he backed up. He ran into another miner, who promptly shoved him to the ground. "Watch out kid." He said. "Hey, leave him alone." said the other miner.
"Oh shut up Gunding." Said the miner. "I'm tired of Winterhold. I'm tired of this mine and you. Now come here!" he said to Frontar "You're gonna pay for that. He swung the pickaxe at him. It was going to hit him in the head, but he swiftly rolled out of the way. Frontar reached for his own axe, but the aggresive miner stomped on his hand.
Frontar quickly pulled back his head, clutching his bruised hand. He drew his dagger out it's holster. "What are you gonna do with that thing, give me an owie?" Said the aggressive miner imitating a youngling. The miner swung but Frontar ducked out of danger. He then recoiled and hit Frontar right on the shoulder with a blow. He clutched the bloody wound as the miner turned around and did a victory celebration. Frontar clutched his dagger and charged him, using the element of suprise. That's what Herdar said when he hit a patron at the inn with a pan and took all his gold before throwing his body off the cliff
Frontar hit him in the back of his torso. A shot of cold ran through the miner's body, a blue glow radiating from him. "Aghh." Was all the miner said as he crumpled to the ground. The other miner stepped back. Thorgar walked in to the room. "What was all that racket?" He said. "Oh my god. He's dead. Who did this?" Said Thorgar, obviously shocked. "It, it was the boy!" Said Gunding. "Get him!" Said Thorgar. Gunding rushed him, with another miner who had come into the room. Frontar raised his dagger. The two miners yielded. He grabbed the dead man's body, reaching into the pocket. He took out some goods. A couple of septims and a bottle of ale, as well as a ring.
Frontar looked around for a exit. He peered around the small mine. He spotted an oppurtunity. There was a small vein that looked untouched. He ran to them guarding them with his dagger raised. "Listen up and listen good." He said waiverly. They seemed to be money tight. He took some of the honey he had among his ingredients. He rubbed it on an vein of metal, not letting them see it. He looked up at the others. "Hey look." he said. " A gold ore vein!"
"Don't touch it you little shit!" Yelled Thorgar. "Let me go, and you can have it." He said. "Ugh. Fine, okay, okay. Whatever you say. Just don't touch the vein!" Said Thorgar. Frontar cautiously walked out of the mine, swiping an ingot he could sell. He back-pedaled, then sprinted out of the mine as soon as he had a considerable gap
As he ran out, into the cold barren tundra that was Winterhold, the guard looked at him, grabbing him by his collar. "Leave me alone!" Frontar said. Frontar stopped strugling and the guard released his grip. Frontar began a story. "They, they started fighting over an ingot, and then they, killed somebody!" He said in a fake scared tone of a boy. "What!?" Exclaimed the guard. "You have to stop them, their coming after me!" Said Frontar.
"Let's go." Said the guard, unsheathing his blade. "Hey you help, the boy, he killed the man." Said Thorgor as they entered the cave, the other miner nodding in agreement. "Is that true boy?" Asked the guard, clutching his sword, his expression unreadable through his iron mask. "Look he has a dagger." Said the miner who's name Frodnar did not know. "I had to take it off his dead body, they were gonna kill me." Said Frodnar. "They were fighting over this gold ore vein." He added. "Why you little." Growled Thorgor as he charged him the guard warned him to halt, but sliced his head off when he didn't stop.
The other miner ran to the vein and began picking away. "I'm rich." Was all they said as they picked away. "I can finally get out of this hell hole"Halt. You are under arrest for attempted murder." Said the guard. "What, you can't do this!" Exclaimed the miner. "I didn't do anything. "Shut up." Said the guard. He dragged him away. "Boy, you inherit the mine now. Take whatever you want." Said the guard. "Thank you." Was all Frontar said as he leaned against a barrel.
The guard continued to take the miner away, despite his many pleas to let him go. Frontar decided he would need to stay here for the night, it was too late to venture on. He would need to sleep here and cook dinner then venture to Winterhold the next day. He grabbed the pelt from his bag and then took one of the sleeping rolls from the mine. He went to the cooking pot and put in some ice and the cabbage to make a stew. It wasn't by any means extravagent for most, but if sufficed just well for Frontar. He took out one of the books from the knapsack. It was titled The Doors of Oblivion. It was about conjuration. He read it while munching an apple
Frontar took a quick glimpse in it, but couldn't do it. He was to tired. He put his head down on a small pillow he found in a drawer near the entrance to the mine. He shut his eyes and sleep soon found him. Then, a howl broke the calm silence of the mine.