The prison cell that he had awakened in, was dark. Dark, darker, yet darker...
The shadows were cutting deeper as the lights were faded, the flames of burning torches had been lit out for hours that the prisoners had been stationed and imprisoned, locked and chained inside separate rooms inside of the Helgen dungeon, to where they had stored most of their prisoners and torture equipment, as well as some of the soldiers so that they could get drunk in the mess hall, which was located further from the dungeon.
A dungeon was meant to have prisoners, and there was, a lot of them. The most of all of the prisoners were dressed in chainmail armor with blue cloth wrapped around their shoulders and down to their waist, just as their boots and gauntlets were taken away from them as means for resources. Their resources being taken from them, as they were all imprisoned.
According to Helgen, it was known to be a town that was set up as one of the very few sites of execution that the Empire would like to use for the Stormcloaks, and General Tullius of the Imperial Legion was going to have all of their heads, today.
Execution Day.
Out of all of the many prisoners that were housed in the dungeon, ranging from around twenty Stormcloak soldiers, vanguards and archers, there were rarely even the fewest prisoners that were in rags. Tunics that were poorly made, ragged pants, and footwraps that were made from haystacks or something that was utterly uncomfortable, and incredibly scratchy. Easy to make and often made by the people that lived in Helgen as little tasks if they hadn't anything to do.
Helgen was one of those little towns in Skyrim that was more Cyrodilic then it was like Nordic, and between the both of them, they were very stylish. A Nordic culture was more engraved like runes or symbols, that was the ancient Nordic ways, back then. Cyrodilic was more medieval like and Imperialistic. Mostly in the towns and cities that were inside the province itself, but this town in Helgen was like that.
The guard towers that surrounded Helgen were made from scratch, more from wood but stabilized by stone, the roofs were made from cobblestone and there was one to two archers in each their posts, from the eastern southern gate and to the eastern gate, and all the way down to the closed northern gate. The town was secure on exits as they had been built right next to the biggest mountain in Tamriel, the Throat of the World.
General Tullius, the leading general that governed the regions of Skyrim, controlling the Imperial Legion that had been stationed in Skyrim for as long as he could have remembered, one of the most loyal generals that had ever lived for Titus Mede the Second. General Tullius had arrived at Helgen, his hands clutching onto the reigns of his horse, accompanied by Imperial Guards in their Cyrodilic Imperial steel armor, who was following with pride and stoic looks equally. And behind them, were Aldmeri Soldiers. And Ambassador Elenwen.
Yes, the Aldmeri Dominion wanted to send an overseer of the execution, and General Tullius hadn't noticed them until he heard more clatter of hooves from behind, and when the eastern gates opened and the General's head turned to the side, he stopped. He turned his horse around to face them, just as the Imperial Guards did.
Tullius never liked the Dominion, he wanted them to stay out of Skyrim and stop meddling with the Empire, as they had been all over them since the end of the Great War to see that the Empire had kept a promise to their signed ultimatum. The White-Gold Concordat. The one thing that everyone in Skyrim had despised, or at least, supporting Ulfiric Stormcloak.
He groaned, his eyelids squinting as he gave a stern glare, his hand pressing up to his gray beard to stroke it. "Elenwen, why did the Dominion send you here? This is Imperial business. No place for you to be." He told her, whilst Elenwen still sat on her horse, and right now she was having some form of a staring contest with the General.
"General Tullius, it has come to my attention that you have Ulfiric Stormcloak in your clutches." She said, in a calming tone despite the glare in her eyes that was sent back to the Imperial, who had, in return, just set the reins down as he grasped onto them with silence.
Damnit.
Of course, they had to have been here before he was executed. The whole reason that he didn't like them, was that they had their head all the way up his, from the morning and the evening, no matter where he was. Some representative comes from their embassy, just to make sure that his soldiers were following the rules of the Concordant as ordered and promised so that nobody violated the treaty that they had. And they were explicitly and thorough upon their examinations over General Tullius, he had even caught a few spies lurking in Castle Dour, thinking that they were slick...Well, here they were now.
How could he have responded to her? Just nod his head quietly or speak with words? He didn't want to respond, but the need was ...a need. Elenwen expected an answer, the Altmer wouldn't wait another minute for an answer from her favorite general. Supposedly, as General Tullius grunted and just sighed softly. "Yes, Ambassador. We captured them a week ago when we found them, trying to get Ulfiric Stormcloak and smuggle him over to Morrowind. We had to destroy his warships before he did, and we got him. Right now, we have him in the dungeons, ready to face execution." General Tullius answered.
That was stupid for him to say all of that, he knew it, that he should have kept his mouth shut. Even then, they would have observed and examined all of Helgen to just be sure. "You cannot be serious! Tullius, I demand that you release Ulfiric Stormcloak from custody at once." She ordered. As if she could have ordered anything from the General. Tullius was irritated already by this demand, only dully stating.
"I'm sorry, Ambassador Elenwen. But we cannot simply 'hand him over'. We have direct orders from the Emperor Titus Mede the Second for his public execution in Helgen." He told, with truth and with a cold stare in his eyes. "And what of his promise? He wished to bring Ulfiric to the Imperial City, personally, what changed then Tullius?" She questioned, with some tone of spite in her voice as her yellow fingers trailed and clenched tightly onto the reins of the horse.
Tullius spoke. "Mede changed his mind is what 'changed'. He instead wanted Ulfiric's head on a spike, so that he may show to the Imperial City, and in front of his entire Empire. To be made an example of." It was an action to enforce his law all across what provinces that remained in the clutches of the Empire. So far, only being High Rock and Cyrodiil, and Skyrim had difficulties. Soon enough, there would be no more and they could have their clutches on Skyrim once again. So that Titus Mede the Second could gather his plans together to restore any lines between his provinces to order. As there had been...troubles, since the Great War.
"Oh please, your Empire won't do any better with Ulfiric's head on a spike! But it will be better if you just hand him over immediately and to the custody of the Aldmeri Dominion." Tullius couldn't allow this. He could not simply ignore the orders of his Emperor and follow the Dominion's orders, he was NOT their General, and he didn't plan on defying the Emperor's orders just because the Ambassador told him otherwise. She didn't have that kind of power.
"With the supporters that Ulfiric has and the militia in his sleeves, we need to make an example of him to all of Skyrim. We hope to show the people of Skyrim that the Stormcloaks are but a distraction and that a rebellion will only lead to more deaths, nobody in this land likes the war and it is getting out of hand." He told, but continuing on. "As soon as we execute Ulfiric Stormcloak, we are storming Windhelm and killing off the Stormcloak Clan. There will be no spark of Rebellion, as we will destroy what remains of it and secure the Holds altogether."
They were arguing back and forth. The Dominion Soldiers looked heartless, it was assumed to be so, as with the black face masks and the Elven armor that they wore, it was hard to tell if they felt anything at all, and the Imperial Guards that accompanied Tullius were nerved by their constant arguing. They honestly did not want to be in the area while this happened, but an Imperial was dismissed and sent to the dungeons.
And in the dungeons, a prisoner was laid out against the wall and unmoving for the longest time, his eyes were closed and his back leaned up against the wall. Silence. His black hair dropped down the back of his neck and touching at his spine, his beard was black as his hair, and possibly the darkness. His skin was pale but fairly cold, almost Nordic even, but also mixed with a more Imperialistic skin tone. The male had scars over his cheek that looked like a bear's' claw, the man had some red markings over his left eye whilst his eyelids were shifting. As if they were moving at the same time, looking through to something.
His wrists were bound with chains, that were connected to both wrists, but the main chains were strapped to the walls and spreading all the way across the room just as well, and the chains that were spread out to other prisoners that were in rags, and even a couple Stormcloak soldiers who were stripped of their gear. The others that were in rags were of other races, but they the difference being that they were conscious, unlike the sleeping man.
Another was mumbling to himself quietly, uttering some words to himself as his hands were placed over his eyes, whimpering. His hands were placed on each other as if he were praying to something, someone, and others could have barely heard him from far away. But another could.
"Arkay, Kynareth, Talos, Akatosh...Divines Please help me to escape the wrath of the empire, for I wish not to die for thievery. I make a promise to never commit crimes again, just if you give me mercy..." He muttered, sadly and with fear that he would have died at the same time, the same time that he had prayed to the gods he would survive and avoid execution. Never again, never again that he wanted to commit a crime just as long as something freed him from this wretched prison.
One of the others that did hear him, a Stormcloak Vanguard grumbling at the sounds and utters that sounded like he was choking, just raised his voice. The thin-haired soldier just shouted at him. "Shut up, will ya?" He asked, roughly and with clear agitation as he had heard mumbles from that man so many times. The wimp couldn't stop whining and crying about dying today, everybody dies.
He was shut up in the second, the sound of the rattling of chains as the mumbling man, Lokir, had stopped like ordered by the other prisoner. Others were just dull-faced, depressed and looking in all directions. They were all tensed for the execution, the fewest Stormcloak soldiers were worried about themselves, and their leader, and even speaking of the daedra...
Ulfiric Stormcloak was stomping through the hall, his hands were bound by chains and locked into strong steel board, his head sticking through as a ragged sack was over his head and tied around his neck, under that was rags choking him, to the point that he could not have breathed or had trouble with doing so. He was still wearing the fine clothes that he always would have worn, being the Jarl of Windhelm, of course. He was accompanied by Centurions, their gladius' at the ready and with their shields raised. Eyes glued on the man, as they knew what dangers he was besides from combat, but to his voice.
"Look at those Talos-forsaken imperials, thinking they are so high and mighty because they have Ulfiric Stormcloak himself, in their hands." One of them, Ralof, hissed under his breath with sheer hatred against the Legionnaires that traveled with him, to probable death and execution. The other prisoners didn't seem to care that much, but Lokir was completely surprised by the sudden but quick appearance of the Leader of the Stormcloak Rebellion.
The Prisoner was awake. He had been for just a while but his eyelids never moved out of place, his ears were open and listening for the voices of the others, and as The Prisoner moved in his sitting position, the chains rattling as he weakly sat back up instead of relying on the wall to be leaning on. As his back felt a bit stiff from the rocky wall, The Prisoner grunted and then rubbed at his scalp, scratching his thick long black hair.
No memory. There he felt a noticeable scar across the side of his head, it was in a bumpy line that was fairly faint but thankfully, it was felt through his fingertips digging through his hair. The Prisoner breathed heavily as soon as he touched it, he felt barely any pain from it, but just like it was, a faint pain to be felt. That was almost so old.
He couldn't remember anything, and that was something, the man didn't know who he was or what he was, just a body of confusion who couldn't exactly pinpoint his entire purpose in life. It was just confusion, unknowing what to do or why he was here or if he had a chance to do anything. As he was chained to the wall, maybe...He could try and do something about that, and get up off of his feet! Yes, it sounded like a good idea.
Well, it sounded like a good idea at first. Whenever he slumped forward and put his hands on the floor, trying to help himself to his feet but quickly getting up, the chains pulled up and some other prisoners were pinned to the wall, only a few of them, but then with agitation, confusion, and irritation from the others, they pulled back to their original positions and the prisoner fell right on his ass at the point that the others had yanked him down with the chains. The only thing he got from that was a lot of eyes on him, and a couple glares, but that was it.
He was at a great loss, okay so maybe he couldn't have gotten out of these chains so easily...He was bounded to the wall and the others, practically, and the man was stuck in this cell as the cage door was closed anyway so what would he do, even if the chains were broke...Wait for a guard to come by and kill him? Take the key and unlock it? Well, that seemed unlikely, he shook his head to himself.
Just as the man lowered his head, he started to think that maybe all hope was lost for him to get out, he started to hear silent mumbles from the next prisoner, just some chains right next to him, his head perked up and his eyes turned over to stare at him. Taking a common interest and curiosity, the others might not have known what he was saying, but he could hear.
Lokir mumbled, with silence as to not alarm or let anybody hear or annoy them, was making a prayer. "Akatosh, Dragon-God of Time. Please...please take me back, right before I stole all that money and that horse...take me back from all that, I'll devote my life to you forever and then. I will spread your word, my lord." He whispered, and the Prisoner just blinked in response to this. Who was Akatosh...'Dragon-God of Time' was the one thing that he knew, a serious one if he was a God of Time or of the sorts.
The Prisoner blinked and his hand raised, the quiet rattling of chains to be heard, as he tapped at Lokir, who had not responded in fear that he would have been harmed for mumbling, as he had been punched hard a few times earlier. in the shoulder and the leg. Lokir's eyes opened as he turned his head to the right, hesitantly, but seeing the blank look on the prisoners face as he hummed. "You are awake! You...your that guy that was trying to cross the border to Cyrodiil...but you walked into that patrol didn't you? They took me too, obviously..."
He was silent. No words came out of the Prisoners mouth, and Lokir was unsettled by his staring, he just tilted. "Well...All I did was steal a horse, and I...robbed a shopkeeper, admittedly. It was an inconvenience that the Imperials took me on that cart just as I was halfway to Hammerfell! So close!" He whispered, a little loudly over to the man...
Lokir wasn't sure if the man just didn't have the will to speak, or if he felt like speaking, or maybe he was dehydrated and desperately needed a drink right now. There was the old dirty water, seeping through the cracks, but that would have made him sick, probably. "I wish I could get something to drink...the water that's in the cracks or dripping from the drains, well, that stuff is dirty and unsanitary. Guess it wouldn't matter anyway..." The sounds of chains rattling, as Lokir dropped his hands down to his knees. By this time, the other Stormcloaks were silent as they had minded their own business, some of the others were batting an eye or two to the pair of prisoners.
Strange behavior thought Lokir. The Prisoner was barely moving, just staring at him with a frozen look, though nodding and moving occasionally, signs of acknowledgment and that he was actually..listening, and not blowing him off like the others. Lokir gulped, the cowardly man just grunted and looked off to the side, squinting as he looked over to the cage door. Before he cleared his throat, he sighed softly and coughed.
"So...What are you in for? Didn't have the papers to cross the Cyrodiil? Attempted to illegally cross it...? Some other reason, maybe killed someone or stole from Riften? You look like you came from Whiterun actually. But you have that...mysterious look on you, can't tell where you came from. Or if you even came from Skyrim, in particular."
Still no response, but the Prisoner's eyes were now wandering to the floor, trying to use his mind and willpower to process, and think of anything that he could remember anything. Flashbacks, distant but scarred memories, something that could have proved useful! Anything! But, there wasn't something to go off by...It was just darkness, empty, nothing to look at but the most recent memories and words he had heard.
He was staring blankly now, drifting off into space for the longest time, he was glued onto something and Lokir didn't know what it was. But he knew for certain that there wouldn't be any point...they were all going to be killed today, no way out of this but...
"We are all going to die, today. Publicly executed in front of all those people...that's what the Empire wants us to think, but I know that if we hold onto faith...that we can get out! I normally don't worship the gods, like Akatosh, but...it's the only thing I got." Lokir murmured in a more sad tone, and the Prisoner was hardly even listening, his brain was going a bit dark and he was having trouble with raising his head, but then he bolted back up when he heard the slam of a caged door from across the dungeon.
With a clearing of a throat, a rattling of steel was heard, chains were moving and he felt it faintly, and what he didn't notice for a few seconds, was the raised hand that was handed out to him. What was he offering...with interest, the Prisoner looked at the hand and proceeded to stare with curiosity, with silence, what was he gesturing for? Something on him, maybe something to use to get out of these chains? No, it couldn't have been anything.
Was he looking for friendship? Some sort of relationship with the Prisoner? Lokir might not have wanted to die without friends at his side, and maybe he could have made one if he were to die here. In Helgen, and in front of all of those people and children, that would be the day for him. Lokir was staring at him, and from this, he stared back.
The hand was accepted, the whole gesture while his hand clasped onto his, and Lokir faintly smirked. "I...my name is Lokir, I lived in Rorikstead before this. I'm considered an Outlaw in that town, and probably in Whiterun Hold in general, now...That won't matter, now." He spoke, with the most absolute confidence in his voice...No, that was definite sarcasm. No sarcasm there. "You got a name?" He asked, his voice was starting to get more scratchy, and rougher.
It looked like, whenever his mouth opened slowly and with words just about coming out from his mouth, his lips were clenched shut whenever the sound of a key twisting, and a rusted steel cage-styled door opened, creaking. A pair of Imperial guards stood, and from among the Imperial guards, there the Prisoner, and some others, noticed that there were more Imperials watching from behind. Obviously, they would not have been out-numbered by the prisoners if they decided to riot.
"Auxiliary. Unlock their chains, all of you better get in pairs and in a straight line! You will move out of the cell and follow the Captain right outside!" A Centurion shouted in rage, right through the helmet that covered his entire head and face, with his hands clenched onto his sword as he stared amongst all of them.
It wasn't long before they were all silent, but forcefully dragged up to stand, and they were paired up together and gathered in a line formation. With Imperial guards following by their sides, front and back, to make sure nobody could have tried dragging on. All the chains were tightened and bounded to their wrists, and to each other, no way for them to get out without getting the key. And fortunately, they didn't bother to resist.
"March, maggots, march!" He shouted in rage, it was stupid! That rage came from outta nowhere and the Captain was, for a strange reason that nobody will ever know, furious. Perhaps she was having a bad day, and she didn't want to be included with all of this...execution, or she was just this serious at her job, to the point that she will act so serious that she sounded very angry all the time. Maybe it was that. Or she was a fucking asshole.
They were marching to the chopping block. It was raining, the water was pouring from the cloudy skies, while they were slowly stepping over and under the little Bridgeway of the walls that connected together, with archers on the ready, hands on their bows. They were glaring and staring down at the prisoners, chains were rattling as their feet slapped against the rocky grounds of the town, as the citizens were starting from the porches of their homes, and workers were looking from their jobs and getting ready to watch what was going down. And what was going down, was the public execution of the Stormcloaks, and with the Leader of the Rebellion, Ulfiric Stormcloak who was saved for last. And he was standing, but pinned to the wall with all bows trained on him.
The headsman stood tall and right next to the chopping block, the small hilt of his enormous ax was slammed against the ground, it looked like the blades were sharpened and reinforced with ebony, especially for this day. He flashed a dirty grin to the prisoners, or at least to the Stormcloaks. He spoke in a thick redguard tone. "Look, boys, I sharpened my ax with ebony, on this special little occasion. I can't wait for you all to get acquainted with her." He spoke, with sarcasm as he gave off a heavy laugh, a sick one. The Headsman looked eager to cut off all their heads, to decapitate them legally and without any trouble, he just wanted to attack and kill them all immediately. That would have been utter brutality.
Lokir sighed softly, whispering over to the partner that he had been acquainted with, for only half an hour. "Well, friend. It is time to go see the gods. Whether we ascend to Aetherius or Oblivion..." He murmured, he sounded depressed from this, but everyone that was going to be executed would have been. None of them wanted to die, and from on the walls, one of the archers were staring up at the sky...at something.
An Imperial soldier noticed this constant staring, and he looked over to the Archer who was staring at...the mountain. The Imperial soldier followed his line of sight, and he was confused. "Caius...Caius, are you alright?" He asked, planting a hand on his shoulder and shaking him a little bit, but despite this, he was still staring up at the mountain. The soldier was a bit confused, what in oblivion's name was he looking at? He was curious but also a bit agitated, he wanted to watch the execution.
Caius was staring at a specific part of the mountain, in-between the trees specifically, his hand grasped on the Imperial bow, and his two fingers grasping onto the thick string, his arrow was loaded in, and he was looking up. His eyes were squinting and the Imperial named Caius was staring, watching...watching the trees on the sides of the mountain carefully, feeling a pair of eyes watching him even from such a far range.
His friend was confused, he didn't know what he was looking at, and he wasn't sure what to do. So, when he felt a hand on the top of his leather imperial helmet, Caius had him turn his head while he pointed up to the mountain. "Don't you see that...?" He asked, with slight anxiety in his voice, mixed with confusion and also with a bit of...fear? Was that fear? He didn't know, but whatever he was looking at was something that scared him.
"No...?" The soldier just shook his head, but just about to look back down at the execution, Caius forced him to look back up. "Stop. Keep watching...look between the trees and right by that huge rock, that looks like a huge sharp one...Look there." Caius ordered, specifically directing him as to where to look, ultimately serious. "Artius, I need to know if I'm insane or something and that this war is making me see things..."
Artius' eyes were set onto where he directed, looking for that huge sharp rock, though finding it, he looked in between the trees...Even from there, he saw something, it was big. it looked like a huge black rock that was oddly shapened, and something that he couldn't make out. "What am I...supposed to be looking at, Caius?" Artius asked, confused, but Caius was quick to ask. "You see that enormous black rock...? That thing, that's what I need you to look at...Do you see it?"
"Yes, yes I see it." He murmured under his breath, barely even wording out, Artius swore that he saw...his eyes squinted, and just then, the enormous black rock moved quickly! Both of the Imperial soldiers jumped at this, from the sudden movement of the enormous rocks' surprising movement, and it wasn't far that they thought the extent of their surprise, would have reached further, just when they saw that enormous black rock rise from the snow, and into the sky. Temporarily disappearing.
Caius was frozen in place, all the color in his skin had faded as soon as he saw, and Artius' eyes were glued right on the scene before him, what the..."What in Oblivion was that!?" He practically shouted, with all eyes of the citizens traversing and raised up to the yelling soldier, just from out of the many on the walls, and even a few or more of the prisoners were surprised. even General Tullius was staring. "What is it, Sentry? What did you see?"
"General, uh- General, I saw something slither and fly around the mountains!" He shouted down at him, the General raised his brow, the Imperial was incredibly confused, just as any other person was, thinking that he was crazy. Tullius just scoffed. "Sentry, you are just imagining things. Return to your post and keep all eyes on Ulfiric Stormcloak." He ordered, seriously, not believing a word. "But sir! It was enormous! The size of an Inn!"
"Not another word, Sentry!" He shouted in fury, just then, and the Sentry shut his trap up...Caius was silenced just as Artius was, and from the eyesight of the prisoners, the lot of them were looking at the block. So far, the Priestess of Arkay gave her prayers to them and spoke with pride and joy, even on this day. So far, a few were executed and The Prisoner, just as well as Lokir, was looking at the heads that filled the wooden box.
"Next in line!" A Stormcloak Vanguard approached the Captain, who was glaring at him, just as he glared back. There was silence between them, the Vanguard was unmoving and he seemed to have something to say...The Captain hissed through her teeth. "You got something to say before we put you out of your misery, maggot?" She asked, practically choking on her own words.
The Vanguard groaned. "I have nothing to say to you, Imperial. I will only preach to ALL of you!" He shouted. "Ulfiric Stormcloak is the true High King, he beated him in fair combat! There should be no question that he is legal High King of Skyrim!" The villagers were already yelling in protest, but the Stormcloaks that remained were cheering, it was barely heard but Ulfiric gave a little groan of acknowledgment. "The Empire will put all the holds, all the cities under martial law! No Jarls will lead, it will just be their commanders. While they kiss the boots of their puppet masters, and their Emperor sitting up on his fancy tower. Kissing on that concordant like it was his child, and being so glad to betray Talos!"
The people of Helgen were troubled by this, unsure what to think from this but with some conversing and confusion, the Stormcloaks cheered in approval. "Talos was a man, a man who ascended to Godhood! Tiber Septim conquered Tamriel, he was a true Nord in our book, you should all respect and worship who you want! Do not let the Empire and their puppet masters tell you, otherwise!" He screamed spit was being blown out in the air as he shouted all of this out, and Tullius was growing to be agitated by this, as the crowd was silent. The people that gathered, were quiet, but The Prisoner and Lokir were watching this all comedown.
"Dragon!"
From the skies, and just as the Headsman had been ordered to slam his ax right into the scalp of the Stormcloak Vanguard, an enormous dragon had landed and slammed against the floor and ceiling of a tower, just overlooking Helgen. With red eyes, the eyes of evil just staring down as people were screaming in terror, and Caius was terrified. Tullius shouted in surprise. "WHAT IN OBLIVION IS THAT THING?!"
When the ground had shaken violently, the Headsman fell and on the way, the sharpened ax fell and cut his chains, on impact, the Vanguard grabbed onto the waist of an Imperial soldier and pulled out the Steel Greatsword that they had, before slitting their throat with it and roaring like a True Warrior. The black dragon that overlooked the town, growling, he shouted a great and powerful attack from his voice, like the wind as the sky was red...and meteors fell from the sky.
"Guards! Get the townspeople to safety, Archers! Fire on that beast!" Tullius was shouting and calling out orders to his disposable soldiers, during all the chaos as meteors were falling and crashing into the grounds of Helgen and outside, the prisoners were all scattered and separated, the Stormcloak Vanguard had escorted Ulfiric Stormcloak, along with other Stormcloaks inside of a tower for safety. Just disappearing out of sight, a rock had hit The Prisoner right in the face, knocking him on the ground from the impact as he felt his vision was...fading a bit, becoming blurry.
Lokir had seen the flashes of fire as time seemed to go by fast for him, people were running in a hurry, debris covered the one entrance that led to Helgen Keep, there was no way he could have climbed over to escape the burning debris, and the embers of that meteorite. The other prisoners and Stormcloaks were cut off by their blades, having just disappeared in several directions while the Imperials were focusing all attention on the enormous black dragon that was in the sky. The Breton couldn't think properly as the flames had made him feel...sweaty, he wheezed a bit and choked nearly on his own breath, only then did he stare off at the sky and keeping his eyes on the beast.
It was almost like he forgot about the prisoner that he was paired up with, but eventually, the prisoner grumbled as his hands were planted on the embers of the rock, he grunted. The Prisoner winced as his hands started to burn up a bit, and then raising up and getting on his knees, he felt the sweat going down his forehead. And with all that was going on, he was starting to feel delirious, oh look at that big black thing in the sky...like a little butterfly. And from this, Lokir's head snapped to the side and with his attention caught back to him...His partner.
Lokir quickly ran over to him, even if his wrists were tightened by the chains, nothing stopped him from spreading his fingers as he shook on his shoulder and beginning to shout. "Hey, partner! Get on your feet, we need to get out of the open!" From the shout, the Prisoner could barely have heard her and he was looking up at...the Dragon. His face frozen and his eyes glued on everywhere that it was flying, like a pattern, and he was flying in a circle while shouting something...powerful, from the sound of his voice. A breeze of strong wind pushing him back.
"Partner, come on. We don't have all day!" Lokir shouted, just shaking him violently at this while, there was no further response, the Prisoner placed an arm over his own while he snapped his head in his direction. There was the sounds of...stone, shifting and moving in place, it was very loud and it was just close by. A tower that was overlooking them once before, during the whole execution was creaking as it was easily noticeable by anyone in the vicinity and the whole town, that it was going to fall!
Lokir grabbed him by the collar of his tunic, and then forcefully began to drag him as he shouted in fury, and in alarm to any others in the vicinity. But, being cut off by an Imperial soldier. "Brace!" Caius exclaimed though he was running along the walls of Helgen as he too disappeared. By the time the Prisoner was practically thrown against the other tower in the corner, the one that was just about to fall...
It was crumbling, as it fell in two different directions, one part of it had fallen down and crashing down onto the thatch roofs of the Inn, the rubble and other parts of the tower had fallen to where they once were sitting. The Prisoners' breathing started to catch on, as he stood up from when all of this happened. And when the ground shook, he regained his balance even from shaking violently and slamming his fists on the stone walls of the tower. And right now, Lokir slammed his hand on the wooden door in a panic, as to try and get into the room so that he could have gotten into the tower. The handle was a viable option, and his hand pressed onto the metal, twisting it as he jiggled with it- just groaning. He backed away, raised his leg and pulled it back for a bit- until he sent a powerful kick that made him yell a bit, that was before the door was furiously kicked wide open.
Inside, there were the bodies of two Stormcloaks who presumably bled out, as there were puddles of blood surrounding them with an Imperial soldier, who was wounded and on the ground, clutching onto his wound. Lokir called out to his partner, who reluctantly got up to his feet and ran inside just before he could have. And then slamming the door behind them. The sounds of flames, shouting and burning buildings could have been heard, along with the smell of scorch.
The Prisoner ran forward as soon as Lokir took a breather and closed the door, his hands on his knees as he bent down a bit, the former prisoner had been staring down, observing the bodies. He was looking for q weapon, a sword or axe, something to defend himself with. The Stormcloaks didn't have anything, but the wounded imperial... He must have something, and his eyes were immediately glued right onto it.
An Imperial sword was clattered on the floor, and a dagger was stabbed right in his stomach, they could use the weapons. The Stormcloaks looked like they suffered greatly, as they could not properly fight. And defend themselves. Sad times were upon them, but they didn't have time to feel compassion about the dead, just then he could have only moved on. The man knelt down as the wounded soldier...he was breathing, unsteadily. He coughed a lot of blood, just wheezing a little, unable to have opened his mouth to say a few simple words. The imperial was staring at him, bloodshot eye, his skin going pale... "Prisoner..." He whispered, barely even able to do anything or say at this point. His hands were soaked with blood, from the wound in his stomach, and the unending pain in his shoulders but mostly his stab wound.
He could have tried to do something, about his problem. Cast a low-level healing spell, or tend to his wound by makeshift bandages, or maybe put him out of his misery. What would happen if he did help the Imperial? Perhaps give a good word for them, and that they didn't deserve to die, as they, even on the other side of things, helped a Legionnaire. But then again, they had taken him to their execution and whether he was supposed to be there or not. He truly didn't belong in those chains... He didn't even know where he had come from in the first place since he had no memory.
Swiftly making work with the Imperial, he picked up the dagger in his hands, and then stabbed it right into the scalp of his head, with such extreme force that he heard a crack in her skull. The prisoner looked down at the dead, picked up the Imperial sword and stared down at it before Lokir grabbed the sword from his hands and clenched onto it. And now, the prisoner had been equipped with a dagger, that steel dagger he killed the soldier with. Fantastic.
"Come on, we need to move up to high ground and find a way to get to the Keep. We will be safe down there than up here!" Lokir called to him, his face was composed of many emotions, from anger, seriousness, and hope. The hope that came right out of getting out of here, avoiding death and execution by the Imperials, Lokir took this chance from the black dragon to...actually escape! Yes, there must have been plenty to observe from the top of the tower, as the Breton started to charge up the stairs. The Prisoner followed behind him while batting an eye up as he had already taken up a flight of stairs.
The wall burst with cobblestone pieces clattered against the floor, a pair of black horns, that were sharpened as if they were thorns...as if there were smaller horns on those huge ones, and the red beaming eyes of the black dragon was seen, staring, Lokir trembled as he nearly fell back and down the stairs, almost. It would have been if the Prisoner hadn't caught him, with his arms held out and with his arms around his back and over his chest, while the Prisoner had almost fallen back if he were not any strong or muscular. The Black Dragon opened its jaws, and breathed fire in its forward direction, flames like lava and oblivion had burst through the air, as the Black Dragon stopped, violently jerking out of the tower and with its tail slamming against the already burning and destroyed Inn.
Where could they have gone from here? The Prisoner took charge, his hand placed over his eyes, as to look further so the sun wasn't blocking his vision, squinting as he observed for any way out. The gates were on lockdown, there were Imperials on the other side of Helgen, battlemages, and archers that were firing into the air and trying DESPERATELY to shoot the dragon. The dragon was burning flames into the ground, as it flew overhead, roaring in fury and rage as the arrows barely even hit him, just being flicked off like they were nothing. The Prisoner felt no fear from the dragon, strangely enough, but he felt only determination and a strange curiosity, over the black dragon in particular, as to where it came from or why it came here. He didn't completely understand how...convenient it was for that beast to come here, and burn down the entire village, to prevent the Imperials from continuing the execution, thus ending every life in that little town. Maybe then there would have been no future.
Even from the smoke, that caused for sweat to build from his forehead, and to his arms, as well as soaking his tunic and pants. It was hot everywhere and all over, the Prisoner took a deep breath but only to cough a lot. When he bent his head down, to look at the burning inn, that was practically generating smoke into the air and causing problems to breathe. Lokir was way too busy, with his eyes glued on the black dragon that swerved and flew over the sky, burning fire over the town. And from The Prisoners eyes, the only way out of this tower and to get to Helgens Keep was to follow the path, and that path would have begun from dropping down into the inn...there was an escape through there, he could even see there was a big hole in the floorboards, though it was a risk, as there were rubble and fire all around. It was a risk to take if it meant that he would have escaped and survived from the beast with black wings.
The Prisoner, without any fear of burning alive or being crippled and so on, from any possibility of death, took a leap of faith and jumped for it. Lokir nearly had a heart attack as he called out. "No!" It sounded like he cared, genuine care for him, the Breton looked over the ledge. The Prisoner had fallen on his body as he slammed against the floorboards, a loud noise of wooden planks being shuffled and creaking violently, his hands planted against the boards as he coughed from the amount of smoke in the room. Lokir looked down, seeing that his friend was still alive, sighed in relief. He waited for him to get up and move out of the way. "Hey! I'll be right down there, just move out of the way!" He shouted, his voice was booming and it was loud, to be sure that the Prisoner heard him. And he acknowledged it, but getting up slowly and carefully, hearing the various amounts of creaking, showing some care as he was afraid the floorboards would snap and his foot would get caught in a hole. To which he would be stuck. But even if that happened, Lokir would be there to assist.
There was a wall of rubble and wood in the way, though it wasn't that much, he observed over it and saw that it was flaming at the top, so there wasn't any way to get over by climbing. He needed to move it, but did he really have the strength to do that? Come to think of it, he felt pretty strong, even if he didn't remember eating or drinking anything, or taking any sort of strength potions. Since, well, memory issues. He heard a bunch of wood snap and crack, following by screams of horror as he heard the floorboards completely break apart, when he turned around, there was a huge hole in the floor! Well, there was that way to go but...Lokir! He was suddenly worried, he stepped over carefully to look and stare over the edge of the hole, just to see Lokir's body over some of the floorboards, and another was over him.
Fuck! He needed to think quick, he needed to move out and get Lokir out, even if he might have been dead, he did not know for sure. There should have been a way to move the walls...He bent down but using his back, he got a good grip over some of the rubble so that he could have tried to lift it, or at least move it out of the way. He was groaning, the sweating over his body wasn't helping, he felt like giving up on doing so and dropping down the hole to get Lokir...Determination and luck were on his side, just as well as strength, and he managed to get one of the rubbles of the formerly placed tower out of the way. He crawled under it and headed for the clear opening, and then he dropped down with his feet planting against the floor while he grunted, the Prisoner winced but looked back to where Lokir had been.
There was surprisingly nothing in a huge way, making the Prisoner run over to his aid while kneeling down, he grunted whilst pushing off the fewest broken planks that were stacked over him, and then to grab at his arm and tugging. Of course, Lokir would have been unconscious from that fall! Or...He stopped, fear dwelling through his body as anxiety kicked in, his chest tightening as his hands shook by the slightest. He put two fingers on his neck and put his ear against his chest, to at least TRY and hear for a heartbeat. He couldn't hear that much, coming from the flames and shouting, just as well as the ear-piercing roar from the dragon outside.
Taking his chances, the Prisoner hoisted his body up and wrapped an arm around his own shoulder, and struggled to get him up and over his back, the Prisoner was surprisingly strong even coming from falling down a couple stories and down into an Inn, and from this, he began to drag him out before the fire and rubble could crash through the second story and crush them. Once outside, he could see a better view now, just as he observed the area around him with his eyes squinting. The heavyweight of Lokir's body weighing over his back, as he carried him, his hands around his ankles and the Bretons' arms over his shoulders. He huffed, and then stopped...his heart started to stop whenever he saw an Imperial, his sword out and looking out.
There was someone, who was on the ground and bleeding from his chest, he could have seen the puddle of blood as the man was coughing out a lot of it, the villager...the man that was wounded and laying out there, completely defenseless, clutched onto his wounds as he stared at the ground and barely even able to lift his head. The Prisoner watched. A boy had run out and knelt before him, nearly balling his eyes out while he pressed his hands over his abdomen, shaking him. "Dad! Dad please, please get up!" He continuously shook him with hurry and panic, the boy was scared of what was to come. The man, still lying on the ground and being the boy's father, raised his bloody hand and placed it over the boy's tunic. "No...G-go, get out son." He muttered weakly, just barely to be heard, the father's eyes were closing a bit as he felt his life slipping away from him. It was hard to keep in any strength and will to speak, let alone to be living this long without bleeding too much out.
An Imperial soldier ran out, he was one of General Tullius' guards, who was in Cyrodilic Imperial armor, made of steel and his hands clenched. "Come on, boy! You need to get back to safety!" He called out, with his hand on his sword, fairly weary for the black dragon that began to lurk and fly overhead. The boy stared down at him, and the father continued as he coughed out blood. "Haming..."
The earth trembled and shook with surprise, as the Black Dragon had stomped and landed before the boy and his bleeding father, the Imperial Soldier stared in horror, the boy had not even flinched or moved, and he was crying. He was crying...The black dragon made some...very concerning noises, that sounded like low growls while his jaw started to move, raising as he laughed...The beast laughed! The Prisoner could not have believed it, nor could the soldier, whom was also surprised deeply and with fear...Fear?
"Dahsul, hin sil los dii. Hi fen aav hin bormah ko dii skerah."
"Begone, spawn of oblivion!" The Imperial Soldier roared in fury, pulling out his steel imperial sword and raising the shield that he pulled from his back. He took his defensive stance in front of the injured and the frightened boy. The black dragon laughed in a fairly deep but fear-inducing voice. "You are brave, Hi los dinok los het." Instead of burning the soldier alive, it flew right into the sky and slashed its claws right against the shield, launching the Imperial to the wall as he was slammed, but then to fall. He took quite a beating, he was lucky to have been alive, it must have been something to show such courage against the brave. The Prisoner was in awe, but then quickly rushed past as quickly as he could, before Haming...the boy closed his eyes and rubbed an arm over his eyes, continuing to mourn for his now-dead father. Who had died, from bleeding all over the stone and now leaving them there, the Prisoner continued on.
The houses that he needed to maneuver through, were burning and almost impassable, or even safe for him to carry Lokir through. So he jumped down the little trench that was holed up and against the wall, he looked around, and observed as there was an Imperial archer in his way, shooting up in the air, when the Earth trembled and he slammed himself against the wall, he saw a shadow loomed over the moment he saw the scorching flames, hotter than any fire, burning the Imperial alive as he screamed in absolute horror and pain, just before the dragon flew off and the scorched and skin-melted body of the Imperial lied, his mouth wide open. The Prisoner took his chance and continued to carry Lokir, though it was bad since there were Imperials flooding the field of Helgen where there was not much of anything. A couple of watchtowers were burning, on the almost verge of collapsing, but the structural support made sure that they had not.
The Prisoner took his chances and started to rush quickly and past the Imperials, he couldn't hear anything from Lokir since he had fallen through those floorboards, especially falling from a second story floor and farther from a tower. When he had stopped and looked around, seeing the many Imperials that were gathered around and their heads raised, their bows were already at the ready and constantly shooting at the black dragon that flew in the sky. And from then, he looked between the two doors and took his chances by going towards the farthest door on the left, since the first one had been blocked by burning wood from wherever it came from. A dead Imperial soldier lying on the ground, still bleeding from having his armor ripped to shreds from that beast that flew in the sky.
From there, he was safe. And Lokir...If he was alive.