A/N: I'm going to start with a question. Do you think this is solely a fanfic, or is it also an RP? Keep in mind, this was written by four different people, all of who have their own character. Settle a bet and tell us that it is in fact also an RP.

Okay, now for the credit. Eleanor- Is me. Stem/Wallace. For all intents and purposes, I am the mod. Arisae-Pancho. Theodore-Fingers. Ned-Shannon. There is also one other certain to come character, but he will come in the next chapter. If you review, I will probably answer, but you can direct a question or compliment at anyone and they will answer instead.

Now for the chapter. This is more of a prologue than anything. A warm up if you will. We will get better as we go, as now it doesn't flow all that well. If you find any blaring problems, let us know. Any feedback is greatly appreciated.

-/-

Eleanor shivered as the cold wind swept through the holes in her ragged prisoner clothes. She looked around the carriage she was in, silently wondering how it had come to this. It was all a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Walking along in the forest, who would have expected to have a net dropped onto them, and then to be told that it was "Stormcloak scum like you that ruin all of Tamriel."

She started paying attention to the people that were set to die with her. They all looked worse for wear than she did. There were six others in total. Four of them looked scared, one indifferent and the last one looked defiant and angry just to have been locked up. She studied him for a bit.

"What's your name?" She eventually asked.

"Ned." Just Ned's luck. He would have been home for the first time in years, but no, he had to get arrested for being a damn Stormcloak. Turn cloaks more like it. Nearly as bad as those imperial bastards. Now he's sitting in some ragged wagon with 6 others whom all look like they had a slice of the same rotten luck. He wonders what they're thinking. Why are they all here? Ned guessed it doesn't matter anymore...

Next to him, the cloaked stranger sat in his place, not moving a muscle. He'd heard the woman ask for a name, but he simply assumed that it was directed at someone else. At any rate, he was determined to reveal nothing about himself, and why he was here. He'd heard of the war in Skyrim in his travels in Morrowind. And while crossing the border, was persecuted for "espionage". Serves him right for being curious. Now here he was, seated with a bunch of other criminals. He didn't know who they were, or who they worked for, but he did assume one thing. They were all criminals, and he had to stay out of their way.

Little did he know that Eleanor had turned her attention to him. She didn't say anything, he looked experienced. Not old, just like he knew what he was doing. The way his hood was low and his forward position gave nothing away as to what he looked like, or how he was feeling. It was a little off-putting, so Eleanor forced herself to ignore him to the best of her ability. She turned in the opposite direction to him, it was the easiest way. Out of sight, out of mind.

Pushing her long blonde hair out of her eyes, Eleanor decided she would try and get someone's story of how they got here. She immediately ruled out two of the people. Ned as he didn't seem the talkative or happy type and the hooded figure as she was slightly scared of him. She decided that she would try the redguard as he seemed the least freakish of the group.

"So, how did you get locked up here?" It sounded much more cheery a question than it should have, but it had a chance to lift the moral of the group if she was lucky.

Theodore sat in his bonds, staring into the distance with anger and malice. The thin pines along the road stood over him with spite and only the snow-covered mountain in the distance could make them appear weak in the stinging, frost-bitten air. His long white cloak had been stripped from him by the Imperial forces and they had left him only a ragged linen shirt and trousers for protection against Helgen's icy breath. His cloak had been torn off his back upon his capture, just as further humiliation at his situation.

When he heard the voice from the opposite corner of the cart, he was ripped from his thoughts. Understandably, it came from a woman; 'A girl, rather,' he thought. She was small in height and build with snowy blonde hair and a soft face. Her eyes, though, were full of fire. Experience beyond her years it seemed. He gathered from the expression on the girl's face that the question was directed at him.

"Your manners seem to have been lost along with your ability to hide from Imperials it seems," Theodore replied, returning to the landscape. "A girl like you should know when to be heard and when to be seen."

Eleanor's eyebrows shot together as her eyes narrowed. How could he speak to her like that? With such a calm and collected voice. It made her realise that yes, some of the people in this carriage were actual criminals; not people fighting for their peace and freedom like the Stormcloaks. The carriage gave a lurch and that pulled her attention away from the extremely rude and sexist criminals.

She looked towards the front of the car. Sure enough, they had arrived at Helgen. Eleanor knew she should be feeling some form of dread, but her overriding feeling was that of happiness that this old sexist bastard was going to die. Hopefully, they called his name first so she could watch him.

As the carriage stopped, they were ordered by some imperials to get out and line up. When they had all been roll called, they were told to stand by the chopping blocks. After the first person was killed, the second took their place on the blocks.

The sight of blood and dirt had never been enough to reach Theodore, and the small weak man's head lying in a poorly woven basket was no exception. Just as a man by the name of Blythe took up his position at the block, and the masked executioner drew his halberd, a deathly roar was heard throughout Helgen. A mighty figure made its way overhead and landed on the stone turret above the Imperial officials.

Dark elves had a natural adeptness for the arcane arts, and for the hooded figure, this was no exception. His curiosity had been piqued by the war, and now, the dragons had gotten to him as well. In his peripheral vision, he saw the redguard instinctually dive and slip away to freedom, but after that, he got distracted by the searing flame which burnt the hood of his robe. A smirk had suddenly appeared. It was as if the hooded figure found delight in this battle, rather than fear. But in realizing that this was his only robe available, he became irate.

Theodore's first instinct was to run directly away from the creature; however his years had taught him that diving to his right was a far safer means of escape. His theory was recognized as the monolithic beast shot a thunderous roar from within itself and onto prisoners and soldiers, sending them in flight onto the hard ground behind them. Only once he had hauled himself off the ground and steadied his feet did he decide to break for freedom.

He darted into a small tower in front of him and made for the small window above the staircase. He eased his large figure through the gap with difficulty and landed with grace on the thick snow beneath. Theodore did not dare to look back as he ran over the crunching snow, through the towering pines and only heard echoes of screams and another mighty howl as he disappeared into the forest.

Taking his hand out of his pockets, the hooded figure clasped his hand into a ball and lifted a piece of rubble which once made up the stone tower. He simply glided his hand across, and struck the beast on the wing. But, in knowing that he was fighting a losing battle, he smugly shrugged, and walked away.

The archers of Helgen were doing their best to strike the beast, but so far, it seems that he was the only on to have landed a hit. The sight of people burning to death was amusing to say the least. He saw a man beckon people over to safety, inside a building. Deciding to put some trust in humanity for once, he followed the instruction, and entered the building. As he entered, the seam of his pocket caught the doorhandle, and its contents were strewn all over the floor. Amongst all the coins and hay, there lay a brooch. A brooch which had the name of this mysterious figure.

Ned looked around as chaos engulfed the city of Helgen. He was still bound and as helpless as a child. 'FIGHT', his thoughts screamed at him, yet he was unable to. He begrudgingly decided to follow the Stormcloak solider who was in the same cart he was in. "Over here," the soldier beckoned Ned. He didn't argue; it was go with him or face the dragon unarmed. The solider cut his restraints. Good. Now at least now he was less vulnerable now and could maybe get a weapon. He always felt sure of himself with a sword or even an axe in his hand. It was a disposition that branched back to his early childhood growing up in the streets of Windhelm. Suddenly, he was broken out of this trance of the past as 2 imperial guards burst into the room, charging to attack the Stormcloak. One engaged him in a fight while the other continued to charge at Ned. At the last moment Ned picked up an empty chest as if it were a paper weight and flogged the guard with it. When he was sure the guard was dead, Ned collected his armour and weapons and ran outside to fight the dragon.

Eleanor watched Ned run into the building that the old man had entered, then emerge seconds later with weapons and armour. She took a look at the dragon as it incinerated people, then back to Ned. Realising he was going to die really quickly, Eleanor ran inside after the mysterious man. Once inside, Eleanor slammed the door shut behind her. Who better to be dragon food than idiots and imperials?

Once certain that the door was secured, Eleanor took in the room she had entered. The room now had four people in it. Well, four live people. There were two dead imperials, one with his skull bashed in, and two dead presumable Stormcloaks. The live people in the room were the man named Blythe who was on the chopping block when the dragon appeared, the mysterious man and another man.

As Eleanor took a step forward, her foot hit something. She looked down to see it was a brooch. She picked it up gingerly; she didn't want to break it. She read the name that was written on it. It read 'Arisae'. She held it out to the younger of the two men she didn't know the name of.

"Is this yours?"

The shadowy figure turned his head to find a woman, holding his brooch in her hands. The bronze of the brooch shone in the torch lit room, and the clear letters of his name were glistening majestically. The brooch his mother had given him. The one which signified her guidance. The brooch which signified his persona. The badge of honour which meant that his comforts would remain in his family. It was in her hands, who to him, was just a silly little girl.

A scruffy tone emanated from his mouth. "What are you doing with that?" he said as the brooch slowly lifted from her hand. It was always one of his talents, moving things without touching them, but until this day, there had been no practicality for it. He stared into the girl's eyes. "Young, but with a fiery passion." he thought to himself. The brooch slowly fell into his front pocket, and he swiftly turned around, ignoring her, and stared at the dead bodies which lay on the floor beside him.

Eleanor retracted her now empty hand from the air. This 'Arisae' still scared her a little. Some of the mystery was gone from him now that she knew his name, but he still emits power. Just the way he used magic to get the brooch instead of walking over and taking it from her was an indication of his immense power. Deciding that she should probably just leave that man alone, Eleanor turned to the younger man.

"What's your name?" She asked him as he approached her with a knife. Seeing that everyone else in the room had unbound hands, she felt no fear that he was going to hurt her. Besides, they could probably use her help.

"I am Ralof, Stormcloak soldier. Do you trust me enough to get us out of here?" She looked at him for a second. Trust him? She didn't really know, but she knew she was stuck without him. She nodded.

"I'm Eleanor. I know some very basic magic, but I would feel better if you could give me a sword." Ralof nodded.

"Pick one up from any of the dead people. They have no use for it now." She looked to the dead Stormcloak. He had a sword on the floor next to him. She grabbed it, and also grabbed his amour. Like Ralof said, he had no use for it now.

Arisae looked upon the dead soldiers, and smirked as he saw this girl scavenge a sword and armour from one of them. He doubted whether she could even lift the sword, and whether she'd seen a dead and almost naked man before. "What about you, elf? Don't you need some protection?" said the man who beckoned him inside the building. Arisae smirked arrogantly.

"Unless you have some light armour around, then there's nothing worth wearing here."

"Well, in that case, do you expect to kill things with your bare fist then?" Arisae took this as a cue to take his hands and set one on fire, while freezing the other. "I think I'm well equipped, thank you very much." He saw the surprise in the man's eyes. "In that case, we'd better hurry, before this dragon destroys the exit."

Arisae saw that the others feared him. They saw that they stayed away from him while they walked. He wasn't one to make friends, and he didn't care, but he cringed at the fact that if they were to face a danger, they would leave him behind in a heartbeat. "Down here," said the man, who he now knew was named Ralof. "The hallway to the gates are blocked by rubble, so we have to go through the dungeons." Without hesitation, he followed this instruction, and looked down into the depths below.