"Dragons are not the only ones that are causing problems in this day and age, and I can see a way to use this to my advantage."
Like many stories, this one starts on a stormy night in the middle of nowhere. Snow was piling up against the door of the small hut that was built out of logs and rope. A woman was screaming, clearly in agony. The wind was howling, but even that could not cover the screams and soon many ravenous creatures were circling the hut. Not much could drive a wolf or sabre tooth out in a storm like this one, but evidently the creatures that were gathering were more than simply starved and they would stop at nothing to find something to eat.
"Asmund! Make sure the door is closed properly!" A man commanded his eldest son, a boy of nearly sixteen years with the deepest blue eyes and raven black hair. His nose had evidently been broken once or twice, but that did not hide how handsome he truly was, didn't hide the strength in his body. Asmund ran to the door just as it slammed open, snow and wind dancing in, savagely ripping at his hands and arms, almost putting the fire out. It was near impossible to move in the strength of the wind, but eventually Asmund managed to reach the door and slowly started forcing it closed again, then putting a plank of wood across the door, locking it closed as best he could against the force of the storm. He rushed back to his father, looking down at the man in worry. His father wasn't the shortest of men, but Asmund had still managed to grow to be taller than him, and hadn't stopped growing. In the room with him and his father was his sister, Brenna, and two brothers, Calder and Destin. All were younger than him, Destin was only five years old, Calder ten, Brenna twelve.
"How is she?" Asmund asked his father, who shook his head.
"I don't know." There was worry in the man's grey eyes and Asmund knew things weren't looking too good for his mother. Through all this worry and pain, the storm raged on and the creatures crept closer, the scent of blood and the hope for an easy kill calling them forth.
It was into this scene that I was born.
"Ylva!" Endre, my second in command and best friend, called out as he started puffing up the hill I was standing on. I turned and looked at him, my brown hair getting blown into my pale face and silver-blue eyes. I could look quite serious when I wanted to, and right now I looked more serious than I ever had in my life. But somewhere deep in, hiding behind my slightly stormy eyes, there was a flicker of excitement.
"What is it, Endre?" I asked, making my way towards him over the snow covered ground. He stood before me, slowly catching his breath and I sighed. It was a bit annoying that he wasn't as fit as he used to be, we hadn't had as much work for quite a while. It is hard to attack people on the roads when people are a bit afraid to travel due to the war. Who knows when you'll come across a soldier from the opposing side? Sure, I had my contacts, but even I had trouble knowing where and when sometimes, so it was harder to find us work. I pulled out my elven dagger and idly started playing with it, testing its point on my thumb and twirling it around. Endre knew that this meant I was getting sick of waiting and straightened up.
"We have received word from Helgen. Apparently a dragon attacked it. Not very many people escaped as far as we know." I smiled at him and nodded.
"I thought that was a dragon I saw, flying off towards Riverwood. This is good news indeed."
"How is a dragon good news? Ylva, we are having enough trouble getting work as it is, how is a dragon going to help our cause?"
"Dragons are not the only ones that are causing problems in this day and age, and I can see a way to use this to my advantage."
"How? You aren't exactly answering my question here."
"Oh, you poor little Endre. Don't you see it?" I asked, walking down the hill, turning around to look at him, still walking, arms open, "There are dragons, and then there's me."
I walked along the path, my band of merry men behind me. I was the only woman in this company, and I was the boss. Bandit Chief, you would call me, and I was quite happy with that title, even if the rest of my happy little family weren't. Asmund had been utterly horrified when he found out that I had turned into a bandit, Brenna had collapsed in an unconscious heap (not too good, considering she was pregnant with another little wiz banger), Calder just looked at me like I was insane, and Destin… Well, Destin is Destin. No one knows what is going on in his head. He was just a little bit special. I saw a group of Stormcloaks coming towards us and a blood thirsty grin snuck its way onto my lips.
"Alright then men, you want a little sport? Or shall we let them continue onwards?" I asked. Endre stepped up next to me.
"Ylva, I don't think that this is the best time to be picking fights." He advised. I rolled my eyes.
"Fine. Be a spoil sport. Stand down, men. We'll just pretend to be mercs or something." I muttered. I knew Endre was just trying to protect me, but it still got on my nerves. I did respect his experience and the nine knew I needed it, I was pretty much just a kid. Eighteen was hardly old enough to count as a woman, and I definitely wouldn't have made it to being a bandit chief if it weren't for Endre, who acted as my tutor a lot of the time. The Stormcloak soldiers gave us amused looks as we walked past.
"Look at them, playing at being soldiers." One of them said.
"Stay out of the way, cat, or you might find I have a new pair of boots, or my wife might just have a new rug to beat."
"Careful, it'd be impossible to get the skooma fumes from it." Zoarzah, a pale brown khajiit with rather large ears lunged for the Stormcloaks that were now laughing to themselves about how khajiit always seemed to be skooma addicts.
"Dandler! Stop him!" I yelled at a dunmer we had in the team. We really were a bunch of misfits, but we didn't care. We all got along and no one was any better than anyone else, we all managed to fit in. I suppose that is what we really were, a safe haven for anyone who didn't fit. Though we all had some sort of skill for using when we're in the middle of a bit of banditry. Dandler was no small dunmer, being rather tall and rather strong to match. About the only person in our little group that could best him in strength would be our orc, Ushub. Zoarzah had hardly a hope at sinking his claws into the Stormcloaks, for which I was grateful. But then the Stormcloaks seriously did something to piss me off.
"You should have stayed in your forest, wood elves." One of them slurred. Evidently he'd been on the mead, and a bit much. Oh, but if making fun of my wood elves wasn't enough, they turned on Endre.
"So, why are you with this rag tag bunch o' hickies? You babysitting them or something? Or are they looking after you and changing your nappies because you're so old?" The first Stormcloak asked him. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, the way it always did when I was subconsciously preparing for a fight. I pushed towards him and shoved him backwards.
"You stay away from him." I hissed. He just laughed, a strange guffawing noise that sounded like he was trying to cough up a donkey.
"What's this, Grandpopa? Your girlfriend?" That riled me up even more and I couldn't stop. I drew my knife and held it against his throat, slowly applying more and more pressure so that it cut deeper and deeper into his throat. Not the best way to kill someone, but it certainly made me feel better. The thrill of making blood flow out of someone's veins made my blood rush like some kind of water fall through my own veins, fire raging and blood boiling. I felt arms pull me backwards and I almost put my knife into my own man before I checked myself and let Endre take the knife off me.
"I am no one's girlfriend and I pitty whoever you're bedding. I hope they bare you no children, or if you have kids then I hope they all drop dead and you have no more. Plus I hope you lose your head to a giant in the middle of battle. Or, actually, how about a khajiit that has been at the skooma? Lowest of the low in your opinion, I bet. You racist sons of whores would see that as a suitable punishment, it'd probably ensure you never saw Sovngarde." I smiled, which rather put him out. I doubted he'd ever seen a nord with teeth quite as pointy as mine. It sometimes paid off, having an argonian grandmother. I'll just say that I don't know who my grandfather is, some random nord who had a one night stand with an argonian. The outcome was rather funny looking, though my father didn't think so. According to him Mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. In my opinion she looked like she was trying to be a horse with strange blue feathers and overly pointed teeth. Regrettably she passed some of the feathers on to me and so I had to find a way to make it look like they were braided in with the rest of my hair. It gave a rather interesting effect, if I do say so myself. Anyhow, the Stormcloak got over his shock and slowly drew his sword. I grinned, blood in mind as I pulled out my own sword. It was simple iron, but it had seen me through many a skirmish and I owed it my life, it had tasted blood on more than one occasion. So had I, and it wasn't as good as dragon's made it out to be, but it's amazing how much fear you can strike into an opponent by drinking their comrade's blood. Rather entertaining too. It was now I realised just how much of a pretty boy this guy was, golden hair that fell in waves, tied back under his helmet. I could make out pale green eyes and some rather sharp angled cheek bones, quite attractive. But I didn't care. I was just thinking of how many ways I could cook his liver.
"Wanna dance, pretty boy? Be careful, I might just step on your toes. And these spikes aren't for decoration." He looked down at my boots. They didn't have any spikes on them, that would simply be idiocy in my line of work. You don't want to leave tracks when you're on the move. But saying that they did have spikes did the trick and it gave me an opening, which I took and hit him in the face, making his helmet fly off. He leaned back, clutching his nose as blood streamed down his face. I took the opportunity to send a kick into his groin, which made him curl over and clutch his precious parts which no doubt had been used to rape the nine only knew how many woman. I knew what these precious warriors were like. Brenna didn't have a husband, and yet she had a son. Good kid too, a natural with a slingshot. The rest of the Stormcloaks were drawing their weapons by now and could tell without looking that Endre was shaking his head and drawing his great sword, which for some reason he had named Pointy (he never was the best at naming things, hell, he named his dog Bowow) and the rest of my men would be picking their targets. I smiled innocently at the man I was fighting, leaning on my sword.
"Comfortable down there?" I asked. Pretty boy glared at me through the blood streaming down his face. I crouched down and put a finger to the blood, looking at the dark red sitting on my finger, then licked it off. It had the usually tang, but slightly colder than usual. I looked thoughtful and smacked my lips together a couple of times, then shrugged and stood up. I spat at him and sighed.
"You seriously need to take better care of yourself. I've tasted better blood from Imperials. Doesn't that just make you want to curl up and be sick? You can't even beat the Imperials in taste," He threw up and I had to take a step back, a look of disgust on my face, "Next time aim away from my boots." I said as I stuck my blade through his neck. My men very quickly disposed of the rest of the Stormcloaks and I looked to Endre. He glared back at me and I smiled.
"Don't you dare say you knew that you could win the fight." He said.
"Why would I say it when you said it for me, old friend." I laughed and he hit me around the head. Not hard, but enough to get the message through, at least temporarily. Don't be an idiot, be smart, don't get your men killed, don't get yourself killed, and by the nine, keep a hold of your temper. I knew the lecture and it had gotten to the point where Endre didn't even have to say it. I knew it off by heart, even if I didn't really listen to the advice. Killing people was simply too much fun.
Author's note: So, I'm just seeing how much interest I get in this. I haven't actually been able to work on it for a while, so I might be a bit slow updating this while I get back into the feel of things and remember where I was planning on it heading. :) Please, I'd love to get advice about this, see what you guys think of it.