Format:

Thoughts

"Dovahzul"

"Common speech"

It…no, she remembered only fragments. She was on the peak of a mountain. Covered in wounds, surrounded, hopelessly outnumbered. Charging forward into the horde, frost magic leading the way with one hand, sword swinging with the other. Then, her magicka sputtered and died as she ran out. Finally, surrounded by numerous corpses of her foes, frozen and cut down, she was bound by magic. Her soul torn out from her flesh and forcefully imprisoned in her cooling corpse. Then…nothing.

== Scene Break ==

It was so long ago, and when one is trapped in a corpse, the passage of time can prove rather difficult to grasp. So she was surprised when she felt a ward trigger, one that she did not even know exist. And just like that, her binding was broken.

Second surprise of the day (or perhaps, night) came when she opened her eyes. Good thing is she can still see. Not so good is the fact that she seems to be stuck in a…..sarcophagus. One with a massive, heavy lid. For a moment, she panicked. Was she going to awake, just to find herself stuck in this oversized coffin forever?

Then she remembered. For Akatosh's sake… I am a fool. Am I or am I not a Dragon Priest? "Fus!" And there goes the lid, flying off into the bright midday sky….Damned sun in my face! She got up, levitated herself out of the coffin, and for the first time since the Second Era, the Dragon Priest known as Krosis laid her eyes once more upon Skyrim. Then, a blade, black as night, entered her view, heading straight for her head in an overhead slash…

By reflex, she raised her staff to deflect the blow, and the sword glanced off, striking a nearby boulder. She took the opportunity to observe her "welcoming party" – a tall, well-built warrior clad in a suit of gleaming ebony armour, who is currently hunkered down behind his shield and cautiously waiting for her to retaliate. Well, he did attack me first, Krosis thought, and proceeded to send a fireball at her opponent with the staff she was holding.

And since when did I own a Staff of Fireballs? I'm a frost Dragon Priest…

The spell detonated harmlessly against the shield, which glowed in response. Hmm…an enchanted shield, I see…

At this point, Krosis finally had a good look at her own hand, the one holding the staff, and her mind screeched to a halt. The hand was blackened, shriveled, and skeletal in appearance, having only a thin layer of leathery skin covering the bones beneath. Looking down, she realized her robes, if they can still be called that, had not fared better either. All that was left were strips of faded silk, and the iron plates worn over were mostly rusted and for some, outright missing. Just how long was I imprisoned?

She was violently brought out of her thoughts when the warrior, apparently tired of waiting, charged forward into her, shattering the staff and sending her flying. She landed and immediately tried to get up, but before she can fully recover, she found the unforgiving surface of the shield right in her face, and moments from impact. She fell backwards…and continued falling, having been knocked off a nearby ledge. This is going to hurt… she thought. As she looked up, she saw the helmeted face of the warrior looking back down at her, as if to taunt her defeat. In a final moment of unrestrained anger, she held up both her hands and sent a pair of ice spikes back up. To her great satisfaction, both hit home, one piercing through the warrior's chest and the other abruptly knocking back his head. Then, her own head impacted the rocks at the foot of the mountain.

As her vision faded into darkness, Krosis saw a suspiciously familiar-looking bronze dragon fly off from the mountain…

== Scene Break ==

When Krosis once again regained consciousness, it was night time. Also, an individual clad in odd-looking leather armour was riffling through her robes and touching her at places he was most definitely not supposed to touch. Alarmed and very much infuriated by the blatant outrage of modesty, she sat up and slapped him, sending him flying into a nearby snow pile. Though, given the time passage, social norms might have changed. But still… she thought, as she stood up and prepared an ice spike in her right hand, just in case he decided to attack her as well. Then, she floated slowly nearer to him, deciding that she may as well get some information from him.

"Who are you?"

- POV change -

As he flew towards the snow pile, Duilius Barbatius only had one thought in his mind. Did I just get slapped by a Dragon Priest? Oh yes, he definitely knew the Draugr lying dead (or so he originally thought) at the foot of Shearpoint Peak was a Dragon Priest. After helping his "fellow Legionnaire" clear out Forelhost, Duilius could recognise one from miles away. Fluttering robes and weird-looking masks on a floating corpse tend to be rather obvious. And an active Dragon Priest was bad news.

He hurriedly got up, drawing his Imperial sword and turning to face his opponent. But, instead of getting a face-full of the Dragon Priest's favourite Destruction spell, Duilius saw said Dragon Priest merely floating towards him slowly, hands down (though the bluish-white glow around the right hand was starting to make him nervous). It stopped about an arm's length from him, and spoke, voice bearing the characteristic rasp of the Nord undead. "Wo los hi?"

Say what?, Duilius thought. Curious to see where this would go, he shook his head, and tried to reply, desperately remembering the few words he had heard from Paarthurnax and the Grey Beards. "Tinvaak … ni … Dovah … krosis." At that, the Dragon Priest lowered its head and raised its left palm to cover its mask, and sighed. Ah crap…was I that bad?

- POV change -

"Speak … not … Dragon … apologies."

As the man before her awkwardly ground out the first words she has heard since awakening, Krosis began to comprehend just how troublesome this conversation was going to be. The two of them probably did not share a language, considering she only knew Dovahzul, the Dragon Language, and he was apparently not remotely fluent in it. At least he is polite. "Do you know anyone who speaks it?"

- POV change -

"Dreh hi mindok naangein wo tinvaak Dovahzul?"

Now what? Duilius was starting to become exasperated. Clearly, this was not working. Still, the Dragon Priest seems genuinely interested in actual conversation, which is definitely good news for him. He had always thought the Draugr were merely mindless undead with only one purpose, to kill anyone who disturbs their rest. Apparently not.

He had no idea what it just said, but considering that firstly, it is still peaceful (glowing right hand aside) and secondly, it apparently understood him when he expressed his lingual incompetence, it was probably asking for a translator. And he knew exactly where to find one, though the actual logistics of getting there would be a nightmare. Just how does one get a Draugr Dragon Priest to High-freaking-Hrothgar?

"Aak … wundun." Let's hope it still wants to talk after a long trek up a tall mountain.

- POV change -

"Guide … travel."

Alright… he wants me to follow him…I think. Krosis was actually amused at the turn of events. Here's someone who is actually willing to help her, apparently. And that's with her looking like a reanimated corpse. To think of it, she probably is one. Let's see where this goes. Even if it all goes to Oblivion, she is still a Dragon Priest. And a very powerful frost mage.

As she silently floated after the man, she started thinking about her brief time after awakening, and what could happen next. I wonder where we are going.

Editted 27/03/15 - Formatting

A/N – So, I decided that I was kinda put out by the absolute lack of stories featuring dragon priests, and started doing up one when I was bored of schoolwork. Next thing I know, a draft went up onto this site.

Here's the new, improved (I hope), and lengthened version. Please review, because a) It may help me get better, leading to better reading for you people, and b) because I have finally come to savour the deliciousness of reviews. Seriously, press the button. Feed me! ^ ^

Special thanks to Someone Else Took My Name for the wonderfully constructive review. Apologies, but you might have to wait a bit for more chapters. I'll try (say, once a month?), but no guarantees. Medical school is busy, like really busy. And I'm still trying to plan out a decent plot. *Sheepish grin*

And yes...the time-honoured, life-sustaining ritual. *clears throat*

And it was thus declared, ownership shall not pass, of owned content within this story. All shall, rightfully, belong to the Creators (Bethesda Softworks). And a flag, aglow with the pale azure fires of the sky, is planted, spearing the bounded territories known henceforth as the Personality of Krosis and the Identity of Duilius Barbatius.

And the ending of the words is ALMSIVI.