"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!" I screamed at the Blond Nord but he didn't respond. These Stormcloaks would have us die with them. These sons and daughters of Skyrim didn't protect the people; they didn't protect me. I sobbed at the situation growing ever grimmer by the moment.
I stood in line with these monsters with the stone faces, staring at the basket; the last thing they would ever see. I couldn't die like this. I have done bad things in my life but not enough to be beheaded. I am just a horse thief for Talos' sake.
"Lokir of Rorikstead" I heard one of the imperial drones say in a monotone voice. Hearing my name made my heart sink. The reality of death swept over me so fast I couldn't breathe. My muscles tensed as I began to sweat from what felt like every pore in my body.
"No I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!" I pleaded; tears forming in my eyes. I was not a battle hardened Nord. I was no Solder. I was a common man facing death for no reason. I could tell my pleading landed on deaf ears. They stared coldly, almost mockingly. "I can't die here….I can't die here!" I screamed in my mind as my leg muscles tensed. Before I knew it I was running. I knew I was running as fast as I could but it felt like everything was moving slowly.
"Halt!" I heard one of the Imperial pigs scream but at this point I couldn't stop. I had to keep moving; move faster. I saw the gates of Helgen open, waiting for me. I had to make it; no I was going to make it. Just a few more feet and I would have done the impossible. A simple man escaping the might of the Empire.
"Archers Fire!" was the last words I remember hearing as the wind broke behind me. A slight whistle brushed into my ears as my body seemed to seize in place. The world around kept moving as my body stopped. Slowly the ground crept to my face and smacking me with full force and the world stopped. The pain shot from my back in waves, but I could not speak nor scream in agony. Only lay there and feel pressure escape from my body.
Moment felt like hours as I lay in my now pathetic grave. Dying in the middle of a city street with my hands tied wearing some make shift potato sack. Would people laugh at the legend of Lokir or worse; would they even care? I was after all a simple horse thief.
The world slowly escaped my senses as I fought for consciousness. My eyes felt like they were going to close and never open again. I had begun to accept my pitiful fate until I heard a bone chilling roar; a roar of something otherworldly. Accompanying that roar were screams, panic and heat. As my senses slowly returned to me; I didn't feel like a Nord; rather like an animal. An animal who was cornered and wounded and only knew one thing…survive.
I found myself crawling to the embrace of the Helgen gates. They waited for me and who was I to deny it. Neither Stormcloaks nor Imperial seems to notice this pitiful soul. But I continued my painful struggle. Through the dirt, gravel, and my own blood I knew I had to live. Each pull felt like a lifetime but I made it to the gates. As I slowly crawled out of that grave of a town, a wave of relief washed over me. I had survived what others would think impossible. Me; a common horse thief escaped the wraith of whatever beast had come as well as Imperials axe. Now I could die knowing I did something extraordinary. My eyes once again began to close as the screams of the people filled the air. I didn't care; I was going to die anyway. People of Rorikstead couldn't care for a nobody like me so why would anyone else.
I pushed out a small laugh as my body became too heavy to bear. I thought to myself as I slowly slipped into the void. No one would remember Lokir the Horse Thief, but those bold enough to travel to this death trap will wonder. Who was the brave man to crawl way with an arrow deep into his back? It didn't take long before the screams slowly muted in my mind and my senses faded away.