Chapter 1: The Dawn of Adventure

Careful. He thought to himself as he aimed, breathing in and out before preparing to loose his bowstring. He held eyes on his enemy who lay still, lethargic on his throne that had been manufactured partly from the oak trees from the east spring and partly from the bones of Orcs. He could feel the cosmos align within him, as he always did whenever a shot was in clear and perfect range. If he could not kill his target, all of his hard work and preparation was for naught and his settlement wouldn't be received. He had to finish this one off properly. His partner and he were in far range from the vicinity, patiently crouching since the night before behind a bush on the tip of a sturdy cliff west from his target. He had been unwearyingly steady as his target that had moved to and fro, never ceasing still and entering in the enclosed rooms time and time again. Finally, everything was perfect and the target was finally dozed off on his throne.

"I had not noticed his throne festooned with the bones of the Orcs." Lydia whispered to her master, the arrowed thief, as she gripped his arm in fury.

"It matters not his killings, but ours." Kyle, the arrowed thief, smirked. "Be still, dear. I know how you feel about the Orcs, but mend your anger for now. Be professional."

"Between the eyes, my Thane." Lydia gripped Kyle's arm firmly. "Let his last thoughts be void."

"Very well." And he let loose his bowstring, shooting the arrow towards his target. The iron arrow pierced between his eyes and Kyle could see blood spurt from the opened wound. "Prepare to kill, Lydia."

"As you wish, my Thane."

Lydia runs from the cliff and slides down, gliding through branches and rocks which protrudes from the steep of the cliff, her cloak flapping in the dawn wind like coiled and coarsed feathers of a crow. The men from the vicinity have already spotted Kyle and Lydia and are rampaging towards them. Kyle looses iron arrows towards the men and women, killing and injuring them. Confident after killing all of the other arrowed men, he puts his bow around his chest and awakens the magic within him, taken from the blood of his ancestors.

He leaps and glides through the branches and rocks protruding from the steep of the cliff, much like Lydia had done before. The mage within him invokes gouts of fire projecting from the palm of his hands through the art of Destruction magika.

The fire blazes behind him, illuminating his crimson hair, glaring off the image of an elf engulfed in the flares of the inferno as he charges at the men towards his way. Their swords swing towards Kyle's face but Kyle's nimble footing gives him way to bend back as he begins to slide on his knees, commanding the fires to graze the skins of the men, causing them to howl in anguish. Kyle then rolls forward like an armadillo and regains his balance on his feet, crouching before sprinting towards the men, summoning a fireball towards the men he had just severely burned. His absolute favorite form to fight in close range is to scorch his victims alive, and that is what he did as the men howled their last breathes under the hell fires.

Kyle peered over to where Lydia was sword fighting, and she seemed to be winning. He smirked to himself. It was almost unfair how her opponent tried to keep up with her so desperately, and evidently failing with each strike of his sword. She moved like no other and fought like no other. He loved her, despite her clumsy brutality when it came to hiding behind close range victims when he wanted to use his archery to quietly sneak past a fleet or an army of bandits. She always blew their cover. Still, they fought gallantly and he knew her dedication to him was unwavering as she always fought to protect him, and him her. Through his quest in Whiterun and his realization of being some upmarket hero apparently (in which he gladly scoffed at the notion of him being one), he had met her. The King had deemed him a worthy Thane and had entrusted his most brave warrior to him, as a service for the rest of his days questing about. He could rid of her at any given moment, but he kept her out of sneaky use for one mission. He had wanted to leave her stranded, one way to get rid of her without upsetting the king. Though in that particular mission, his eyes fell suit to her. She had exhibited charming qualities he could not ignore and had instead traveled with her for many months, never straying from his thief life, and despite her being dead set against it, she followed him without question. She stole for him, she fought for him, and it seemed to him that she lived solely for him. How could he not fall for her? They had consummated their love at one point, recently in the last waning of the moon. In the sunlight's glow the next morning he whispered to her that he'd save enough honest money to purchase a real home for them and an Amulet of Mara for her to wear. He had never once guessed that his past would come riling about and his former association with the Brotherhood would peek about. They had asked him to ensure one last target's kill and bring them back the blood of the victim. They held his reputation with Whiterun's high king at their hands and threatened to blackmail him with it to pursue him their way.

Lydia had agreed to fight with him and assist him on his dark request to help guarantee his safety, but as it would have it, he wanted to guarantee hers as well and at first refused to allow her to attend. She quickly reminded him of their past adventures in Vampire caves and dark skeleton castles in peeks of high Snow Mountains. She quickly reminded him of moments only her assistance and knowledge of poison helped saved his life. She wouldn't take no for an answer, and watching her fight expertly, killing her quarry with much skill and efficiency, had assured him that brining her along brought no real harm to her.

"Be it wind or snow, your sword spares no one, does it?" Kyle smiled.

"And your flames hath no mercy, my Thane." She smiled at him, baring her teeth as he took her by the waist and closed in on her lips. She reciprocated the kiss and delved in for more passion. Separating, she smiled up at him as he did down at her, the winds of dawn breathing through them, fluttering her hair about and intensifying her beauty in his eyes. Her hands cupped his jawline, fingers entangling in his fiery hair.

"We should collect blood from your kill before it rusts, my Thane." She cooed at him.

He glanced towards the kill sprawled on the throne of oak and Orc bones and was reminded of Lydia's past with the Orcs. Frowning a bit he nodded slightly. "Very well."

"Don't fret, my heart. I know why your eyes linger so. The dawn of the Orcs in me hath long past and now my sun shall set with you in my life." She smiled, kissing the edge of his jawline.

"Yes, I know. Just as my sun shall set with you." He breathed in her scent before releasing his grip on her waist and turned at his heel towards the kill sprawled on the throne of oak and Orc bones. "Still, my settlement was promised to be high and I do so expect to well spend my…"

"UGH!" He heard a struggled choke erupt from behind him and he turned to see a sword piercing his love from the arms of the half-slayed man behind her feet, struggling to his last breath to pierce the sword right through her upper abdomen.

"LYDIA!" He roared as he took her falling form into his arms unsheathing the blade from her as the last of the killer's breath slipped away into the underworld. "Oh, Divines. This cannot be." Kyle croaked out from his throat, locking up as tears swelled within him. He drew his hands in front of him and notices it soaked in her blood. "Oh, Aetherius, do not take her with you, leave her with me!" He pleaded to the Eight Divines. Her hands trembled as she glanced to her chest and her body began to convulse almost violently. Kyle held her face and brought her eyes to him, tears spilling onto her cheeks. He called to the blood of his ancestors to awaken his magic and he invokes on a closed wounds spell from restoration magic. Unfortunately, he is far too late.

Lydia parted her lips to speak, but was silenced with the light that carried her soul away to the gods in heaven. "No…" He whimpered as her last breath fleeted away.

She was gone, and he was alone.

Time passed and the dawn wind transcended to the heat of late afternoon. As the blue skies dwindled and the purples and pinks surfaced, bleeding through clouds, Kyle finally let go of his late beloved. His eyes were dry and irritated from the tears and his stomach empty and sickened with grief. He gently laid her head on the ground and walked towards the kill. He took a vile from his pouch and collected the blood. He combed the beds and drawers for gold and potions and he pickpocketed the dead men from their arrows, daggers, and valuable items he could trade at town markets. He found several hundred coins and a multitude of iron arrows, as well as even Ancient Nordic arrows. He left what he did not need and collected what he found valuable. He rummaged the stables, open blacksmith edifices, and gardens for a wagon, and he found one in a storage hall near the tower. The fort was small and it did not take him long to haul the wagon to his beloved's corpse. He lifted her limp body and grimaced as he gently rested her still ridden with beauty corpse on the wagon and began to lug the wagon to the Whiterun, her homeland.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"As we commend your soul to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved Aetherius and may he cherish you, Lydia. What a brave and noble warrior she was, and what a kind and benevolent daughter and lover she was. Let your memory…"

Kyle tuned out the priestess from her mind as he stared at the burial of her body. A cloak reigned her figure and wrapped around it, tied by stained, breaking rope. Her body was leveled down to the earth's soil and the priests shoveled the dark soil over her body.

"In my heart always. The dawn of the Orcs in you hath long past and now your sun hath set with me in your life and with you in my heart always." Whispered Kyle to himself as he turned to leave, not waiting for the funeral to finish. He sold the wagon to a street marketer and sold his findings of the Fort to a dealer in the shop of Whiterun before he attended the funeral.

"Psst. Ye look like you've had it rough." A voice came from the alleyways of Whiterun. It was already night and it had taken a whole day to carry Lydia to Whiterun, and a whole week to arrange for her funeral and call upon her associates. After it all, he had enough for a horse and some extra hundred gold coins to use.

"Piss off, bootless beggar." Kyle growled to the voice, not taking a single look at the fellow.

A hand gripped Kyle's arm and spun him around. "Now, ah think we could 'ave a good deal to follow on, if ye weren't so droning 'bout it."

"Another moment's worth of persistence will cost you an arm, so I suggest you piss off." Kyle snarled darkly.

The boy, only a few years younger than Kyle, let go of Kyle's arms and feigned fear. "Oh dear, and ye think ah care 'bout yer temper tantrums. Now, ah procure certain… coveted items, let's say. Ah am willin' to trade ye for that fine lookin' bow. Is mahogany, yes? Could get me a good deal."

"You think I am artless, boy? You think I'm going to fall for that?"

"Now, ah'm wagerin' that funeral was of ye dear lass, no?"

Kyle takes the boy by the collar and shoves him to the alley. "Do you have a death wish or goat dung for brains, boy?" Kyle sneers at the boy's face. "I will not carry remorse to drain a boy's live hood at the peak of youth."

"Ye just a few years older than me, lad. Now, me gots a well off supply of Skooma to market and me thinks ye wants a bit of a 'pick me up' after…" The boy signals to the funeral still taking place.

"Skooma? What are you doing with Skooma?" Kyle loosens his grip on the boy. Honestly, Kyle was a dirty thief for the most his youth and technically still was. He would "procure certain coveted items" as well for high trades or high prices. He could not condemn this boy for that. Still, something he always stayed away from was the Skooma cartel illegally littering the streets of all piss poor towns like Riften. He was rather surprised this cartel made it to Whiterun and more importantly to a boy so young. He knew if guards caught anyone with Skooma from any land or province, one would be arrested on the spot. He knew that no one sold or traded with Skooma dealers. Only the slums of Riften and the rat den there were agreeably pleasant with Skooma dealers, but that was Riften of course. Land of thieves and desolates, his home tome.

Still, he desperately wanted to forget, even if for a little bit, Lydia's death. He was weak to temptation at the moment.

"As I said: it be a coveted item."

"I will not trade my bow."

"Ye got anything else ah want?"

"I possess… dragon bones."

The boy's eyes widened in disbelief. "Ye a dragon slayer?"

"I happen to retire from The Thieves' Guild." Kyle admitted, so that he wouldn't have to confess that he was the Dovakhin.

"Ah. Makes more sense." The boy said, his alarm waning. "Now, for such a generous trade, ah will give ye a healthy supply of Skooma, and company while takin' it. Skooma's best with company, ya know."

Kyle sighed, staring sadly at the funeral finishing from afar. "Very well."

o-o-o-o-o

"Ye ever had Skooma, elf?"

"Not yet." Kyle spoke sullenly.

"Not to worry. You'd be feelin' better in a few more than if ye took any amount o' Nord mead or ale."

They were outside the inner vicinity of Whiterun and just in the outskirts near the horse stables and farmers. They hid under a makeshift hallway of the tower.

"What be yer name, thief."

"Kyle of Riften. You?"

"Kenny. Born 'n raised in Whiterun." Kenny sat on an improvised bed with a wooden stool at the side and gold box filled with coins and stolen jewels. "Thought ye be hailing from Valenwood, bein' a wood elf."

"My parents… they immigrated to Skyrim before I was born."

Kenny was preparing the Skooma, handing the drink to Kyle. "Now, if ye don't mind me askin', that lass back there was ye wife?"

"I hear this is bitter." Kyle said monotonously.

Kenny sighed. "Yeah, bitter as shat from livestock. Nasty down ye throat too, but the piss ye be drinkin' clouds yer brain 'n heart with pleasant thoughts. Pleasant lies in effect, not taste."

Kyle reluctantly took a sip, and although he can take strong alcoholic drinks, the experience related to what Kenny had previously described, and despite him not personally knowing the feeling of eating shat from livestock, he could relate to the concept well enough after just one sip.

"Ugh. It be coarse." Kyle said sucking his face in.

"Coarse it be, elf." Kenny said as he took a good gulp and kicked the ground as he swallowed. "Ye know, ah had a couple of lasses tucked under me pants, if ya know what ah mean."

Kyle gave Kenny a look, as if telling him to cease his talk to appease his irritation.

Kenny seemed to ignore it and continued on. "I met this beauty, though. Hair long and golden like marigold. Eyes were light 'n blue, like the glow of snow, and 'er lips were full 'n plump. Beauty was she." Kenny swigged another gulp and kicked the ground to lull the bitterness. "Like a sun goddess, 'er marigold hair kindled like the start or end of fire. 'Er voice bared seductive qualities, ya know." Suddenly, Kenny's laugh mirrored one of a perverted old man. "Guttural yet lyrical, 'n the look she gave me when she wanted me. Enough to melt yer knees."

"She left you?" Kyle asked, still waiting for the Skooma to take effect.

"'Er father married her off. Noticed a street rat was toyin' with 'er and sent 'er to damn Morthal. She wanted to 'xplore the land… now she's stuck in damn Morthal."

"If you want her, you go to her!" Kyle laughed. The Skooma was definitely working.

"She's married." Kenny repeated as if Kyle wasn't listening.

"Steal some horse, kill her husbuund, and take herr across the land. Do you know yer way arowund a sword? 'N arrow? Magic? Anytheeng?"

Kenny had the look as if something ingenious finally dawned on him. "Ah didn't think o' that." He looked at Kyle, who was way past sober. "Ah don't know how to fight. Can throw a few punches, but can't fight wolves or mages. Long way till Morthal and a plethora of wolves and mages reign the lands."

"Lucky fer ya, I know mah way around magic and the bow." Kyle collapsed against the wall, seriously disoriented. "My heart… she knew her way 'round a sword." He suddenly felt sad again.

"Will ya teach me?" Kenny asked eagerly, hoping he could probably get an agreement out of Kyle so that when he was again sober, he wouldn't deny him access to lessons.

"Well, why not? I procure knowledge uh… wait… oh, yeah! I procure limited knowledge 'bout swords. More 'bout magic and – hiccup – arrows."

"Lead on, good elf." Kenny toasted to the air as Kyle slipped into the lethargic state of Skooma, drifting off to sleep. Kenny chuckled to himself. "Weedy drinker, elf."

Kenny took another chug at his Skooma. "'Bout time me luck stroke."

O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O

A/N: Why is Kenny Irish? What the hell? I wanted to make him sound poor, but he ends up sounding poor AND Irish. Whatever.

I kind of made Skooma like an illegal drug or something. Like in Skyrim, its true about dealers not dealing with you because you have Skooma or running into shady forest sellers who sell Skooma and attack you if you ask "Isn't that illegal?" So I decided to make it into a hardcore drug. You have leaf Skooma, but liquid Skooma is dominant in Skyrim.

By the way, I just wanted to kill Lydia while giving Kyle a tragic love interest, I mean, who DOESN'T want to kill Lydia at some point in the game. Like you seriously can't sneak up on people with her around, and she always alerts your victims, and UGH. Stop standing in the middle of the fucking door, for Christ's sake! Let me fucking through!

So, Kyle's a Wood Elf. Kenny's a Nord. Bebe… that was the marigold girl, yep. Nord too. Oh, and um, ignore the awkwardness of the names from South Park characters. It's obviously not going to fit in with the world of Skyrim. If you don't understand a phrase or word (because of Medieval speak and all), you have an internet right in front of you. I'm too lazy to translate them.

Also, this is why you should save the game before entering battle. If your servant/husband/wife/whatever or you die, you can always go back to the last saving point. Kyle obviously didn't know that.

Get with the program, Kyle, jeesh.