Welcome!

This is short story I'm in the process of writing about a character in The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim that I created by the name of Craak-Boom. This is the account of his adventures.

The rating is "T" because the story contains light profanity and violence that may ramp up in later installments, but should remain suitable for anyone the age 13+.

This is my first time posting anything like this on here, so please let me know if there are any grammatical errors, misspellings, or anything that might distract for you from your reading experience. I've been updating the story touching up mistakes fairly frequently, and if you leave a review I will try to get back to you within the week.

Enjoy!

Craak-Boom readied himself as he approached the final stretch of his long climb. He simply had to hoist himself over this final boulder and he'd have finally reached the summit of the waterfall.

Easier said than done, he thought struggling to hear himself think over the deafening roar of crashing water.

He was exhausted from the long climb; his muscle tensed and ached as he lifted himself closer to his goal. Craak reminded himself (not for the first time) why he was doing this as he dangled precariously from the side of the cliff. Indeed, in a land of beauty this waterfall was exceptional: The way that it towered over Skyrim, its life providing water glistening in the setting sun as it plummeted into the fertile valleys of Eastmarch. Craak-Boom had seen it several times in his travels, each time vowing to drink from the water at its peak, and here he was was making good on his word much to his chagrin. Steeling himself, Craak took a deep breath and swung his arm up and over the edge of the mountain finding purchase in the deep grooves of the rock. Satisfied with his grip, he summoned all of his remaining strength, and with a grunt swung the rest of his body over the side of the cliff. When he was safely over Craak rolled onto his back panting and wheezing; he rested there a considerable time too tired to move.

After a much needed moment of respite Craak slowly picked himself up and gazed over the cliff's edge, struggling to fight the creeping sense of vertigo. The view did not disappoint: It was a good ten story drop from where he began, Craak could see all of Eastmarch from here all the way to the City of Windhelm. It was just a cluster of lights on the horizon.

Not many friendly faces there, He thought lazily. Windhelm is thick with Nordic customs and prejudices.

These things did not bode well for Craak-Boom, Dragonborn or not.

In fact, he suspected that was the only reason they tolerated his presence within the city limits at all. This policy did not make him popular with the other Argonians slaving down in the docks. It's not like he enjoyed the special treatment - by the Hist - if it were up to him he'd throw Jarl Ulfric, leader of Windhelm, and the Stormcloak rebellion into a dungeon to rot for the rest of his days. Alas, when Craak wasn't gallivanting around or honing his sorcery at the College of Winterhold he'd been trying (futilely some might say) to mediate a peace between the misguided Stormcloaks and the Imperials. Being a foreigner gave him a unique point of view when it came to the war in Skyrim. Craak-Boom he found himself sympathizing with the ideals and beliefs that both sides stood for (for the most part) despite the foolish nature of the war itself. It was all a massive waste in his eyes, the people of Skyrim need to focus against the real threat:

The Thalmor.

Their Radical Altmer ideology poses a threat to all the non-elvish races of Nirn. Of course he could never mention that at a political gathering; he'd instantly be labeled a traitor and be sentenced to death if he was lucky. Craak-Boom sighed to himself; Being the Dragonborn gave his voice some weight when it came to these matters, but not nearly enough he was beginning to think. He smirked, fondly recalling the faces of Nordic nobility when they first discovered that their prophesied warrior of legend was a "stinking lizard outsider".

It would appear that Akatosh has a sense of humor...

The last of the sun's light had set over the horizon when he realized how parched he was. He considered taking a swig of his skin of ale, but decided to make good on his promise to himself. Shaking off thoughts of the war he knelt beside the running water of the falls peak to get a drink. The water cupped within his hands was frigid (as was all water in Skyrim), but nevertheless it was good to have some moisture on his scales again. He caught a glimpse of himself in the moonlight as he slurped the refreshing water down.

He appeared to be a fairly typical young Argonian male: He stood about 5' 8", but despite his modest height he was fairly fit, his reward for constant need of travel and physical exertion. His face was complete with a a pair of short bony horns sprouting from his forehead, a patch of crimson under his chin that lead down his neck (a mark of youth, something he'd been fairly self conscious of), and finally a matching feathery crest that contrasted strikingly with his dark emerald green scales, and light blue eyes. The only outstanding features he possessed was three claw marks scarred above the brow of his left eye that ending just above his snout. The unfortunate result of a run-in with some of Skyrim's wildlife, and a constant reminder to never let your guard down in this untamed land.

Once Craak-Boom decided his thirst had been quenched he splashed a few handfuls onto his reptilian face. Feeling accomplished and rejuvenated he got up to make camp for the night when he noticed something strange in the cliff face; half submerged in the water was a door, its black metallic surface reflecting the pale moonlight.

Craak-Boom's brow furrowed at the implications of such an oddly placed door.

Who built this thing here? Does it predate the falls?

Craak eagerly waded into the icy water wincing as it made contact with his flesh. Craak reached the door finding it to be cold and clammy to the touch.

Perhaps made of ebony?

He noticed it also had some strange carvings etched into it.

Interesting, he thought to himself as he ran his fingers through the jagged grooves. The designs are different than the circular Nordic patterns found in burial tombs that frequent the countryside around here.

In contrast, the design on the door had an almost malevolent quality to it. Its wicked carvings had sharp angles that raked through the metallic door in cruel patterns; just looking at it made Craak-Boom feel uneasy. He tried pushing against it, but the door wouldn't budge.

Damn, the water currents are keeping the door shut...

He stood there a moment cursing to himself knowing full well he didn't have the strength to force open the door. After some deliberation he decided to tap into his magic reserves and ready a personal favorite spell of his: telekinesis. He concentrated, and then with a hand gesture the door slowly began to push open, groaning in defiance as it began to submit to his magical prowess. Water soon began gushing out of the new opening in the reluctant door. Veins bulged from Craak's neck and brow as he struggled to keep it from slamming shut. Craak knew he had to get through quickly. He began sloshing through the heavy current, moving as quickly as he could while trying to keep concentration. Just before the spell shattered he made a desperate leap. Craak-Boom landed just within the door, landing face down in a shallow stream of water. Exhaling, he allowed his arms to plosh at his sides which was quickly accompanied by the hollow boom of the door returning to its inert state.

Inside the darkness was absolute. With a wave of his hand Craak conjured a ball of magical light that danced around his head causing the darkness to retreat back into the depths of the cave. Craak couldn't shake off a feeling of foreboding, and readied some basic destruction magic just in case. He considered turning back, but he was curious now and his wanderlust took hold. Cautiously, Craak-Boom ventured deeper into the cave. He followed the water current through a narrow damp and dark chasm, taking his time on the uneven slick surface. There was a faint light as he neared the end of it; he rounded the corner of the chasm as it opened up into an enormous, open cavern. On the far side of this new, open space was a roaring waterfall emitting a lazy mist that lay low to the damp rock. The light that he'd seen before seemed to emanate from a species of glowing fungi that grew out of the jagged rocky walls and ceiling. These mushroom cast a pale bluish light on everything, that while beautiful, also seemed oddly oppressive in the depths of the cavern. Craak snatched a particularly large one of the glowing mushrooms that hung nearby; it was spongy to the touch, and retained its glow even when detached from the stem. Craak stashed it in one of his many pockets that hid within his robes to examine later. He had just looked back up when he heard something shift; a pebble perhaps, followed by a faint splash.

The sound resonated throughout the cave for what felt like ages as Craak quietly extinguished his light. He remained completely still, his Argonian eyes frantically searching for the source. His muscles had finally began to relax when he heard it again,

but this time it came from behind.

Craak-Boom spun around just in time to see an eyeless white emaciated form lunging at him. He sprang backwards in horror, but too late. The chitinous blade the creature wielded raked across his side leaving a deep gash. With a hiss Crack-Boom staggered and lost his footing on the slick mossy covered rock, falling backwards into the shallow water. The beast quickly scurried over him it's gaunt face grinning in sadistic glee, raising its wicked sword to land the fatal blow.

"FUS!"

Water sprayed everywhere as the simple dragon shout forced his would-be-killer off balance; Craak took the opportunity to sweep its legs out from under it. Craak-Boom took the opportunity to lift himself to one knee, his blue eyes gleaming intensely in the faint light.

"Not today, Falmer!"

Craak's hands leapt outward, frost erupting from his fingertips. The Falmer's shriek tapered off as it slowly began to resemble a block of ice. Craak continued blasting it until he slowly realized that the fight was over. He let his arms drop lamely to his sides, his heart racing. He decided to take a good look at the Falmer for the first time. The half naked creature was malnourished, it's lanky limbs bore many cuts and bruises that spoke of a lifetime of abuse. The ice preserved a gaunt face that was almost pitiable: It's sunken useless eyes devoid of life, it's dagger filled mouth frozen in an expression of agony.

What could produce such a thing? He thought to himself as he attempted to stand grimacing at the pain spiking through his clenched wounded side.