The Following story takes place in the month of Sun's Dusk 4E-181. 20 years before the events of Skyrim

The Elder Scrolls belongs to Bethesda. No copyright infringement intended.

PROLOGUE

Achilles awoke suddenly with sweat on his brow. While he had always had these dreams, they had never been quite so vivid before, so real. His elderly Cyrodilic body ached as he slowly climbed out of bed, and peered out of the small window. The silhouette of his great construct loomed in its dry dock, one of the biggest and best ships he had ever designed. She would be a masterpiece in form, but not overly decorated such as with the Emperor's ship the Katariah, which he had also designed many years prior.

His attention was drawn away from the window by the sound of light tapping at his room door. After uttering for whomever it was to enter, the door opened revealing Malthar, a young Breton man, who Achilles not only trusted much of this build upon, but also saw as a son.

"Is everything all right?" Malthar asked him.

"I had that dream again," the aged man told him. "This time though, it was far more real than ever before. As if what happened in the dream is happening right now."

"What did you see?" the young Breton asked.

"Faces," Achilles replied. "And feelings behind those faces."

"You actually saw their faces this time?" Malthar inquired.

"Yes and no," the elderly man said. " I saw he who is consumed with rage, she who seeks a future. I also saw other faces. A woman who is anchored to the past, and a man who is very much the same." He rubbed his face with his wrinkled, tired hands. "The other faces are still not in focus, but I feel they will become clear in time."

As always, Malthar looked at him with clear scepticism in his eyes. "Are you certain that this is all some prophecy?" he asked. "It's just that it all seems so very odd to me."

"I am certain."

"You might be simply having memories of the past. Dreaming about things that you saw, or heard about."

The old man shook his head with a smile. "No, it is something that has yet to happen. I am certain of it."

Malthar shrugged his shoulders. "If that is what you believe, I won't try to dissuade you."

"You think I'm just a kooked old man, don't ya boy?" Achilles said wistfully.

"No, I think that you're a master ship designer, who partly has his over active imagination to thank for his success. Just don't let that imagination take you on some wild fantasy."

"I'll tell you this." Achilles said softly. "The day I die, will be the day you shall see that everything about my dreams were true."

"Maybe so, but perhaps you should get back to bed. It's late."

Achilles nodded in agreement. "Okay, boy. And thank you for stopping by."

"You're welcome."

Malthar waited until Achilles was back in bed before he closed the door behind him, leaving the old man to get his rest.

The man fell back into a deep sleep. Images of a chase began to swell in his mind, he began to dream once more.

CHAPTER I

Fear struck Magoza as she was shaken awake suddenly, and rather violently. All the young Orsimer's blurry eyes could make out, was that a figure was stood over her. The strangers hand released their strong grip, as Magoza rubbed her weary sleep filled eyes. She peered back at the one who had awakened her, to see if she could make them out. To her surprise, it was the Stronghold's Wise Woman, Dynak. She was wearing her armoured, hooded dark brown robes. Her elderly dark green face filled with a rare look of worry.

They were in one of the small huts that dotted the larger than average Orc stronghold, that lay on the cusp of the Druadac Mountains on the High Rock side. This small hut in particular, was where all the young girls between the ages of twelve, and adulthood lived.

Magoza looked around to see the others still sleeping soundly. "What's going on?" the young Orsimer asked the Wise Woman quietly, slowly climbing out of bed. Magoza caught something out of the corner of her eye. She looked to see Gereb, an older Orsimer man laying unconscious on the floor. She gasped, her head snapping quickly back to Dynak. questions racing through her mind.

"Ignore him!" Dynak whispered firmly, yet with a a deep undercurrent of fear. "Get your hide armour on quickly, Burag wants you brought to him."

Burag was the Stronghold's chieftain, and had been for as long as she had been alive, which had been about seventeen years. He was large, strong, and could be most fierce. He had gained infamy amongst other Orc strongholds in High Rock, as a strong and most able warrior. He stood a head taller than everyone else in the stronghold, and was built as though Malacath himself had forged him. He had lighter, scarred green skin, black hair, and had giant tusk-like teeth. His eyes were a piercing bright red, and above each of his brows were three small bony horns, that arched upwards almost to his temples. The chieftain was not friendly looking by far, even by Orc standards.

Magoza herself on the other hand was quite unimpressive. She was short, being just shy of five feet tall, and was quite skinny. She had smooth greem skin, dark hair, large green eyes; her nose, which she had inherited from her mother, was short squat, yet pointed with wide nostrils; and her tusks, which all Orcs had, were almost non-existent.

After another prompt from Dynak, Magoza climbed out of bed and quickly began to put on her armour, staring at Gereb's unconscious form as she did so. As she grabbed her small iron dagger and sheathed it, she wondered what could possibly have happened for him to get that way, and if it was Dynak that had bludgeoned him.

The wise woman noticed her staring. "Burag sent Gereb to bring you to him," Dynak informed her, making sure her voice remained low. "I need to take you out of here, to Jehanna."

"Why?" Magoza asked, as she gripped the back of her medium length, dark brown hair and twisted it into a bun shape. She placed two hair sticks carefully into her it, holding it tightly in place. "You look worried about something, what is it?"

The Wise Woman looked into Magoza's dark green eyes. "Burag sent Gret somewhere," she whispered, hoping none of the other youngsters were feigning sleep, overhearing their conversation. "When he returned he spoke with him. Burag then became furious and slew him right there."

"What!?" Magoza asked in shock, her voice raised. "Why didn't you stop him?"

"Please, try to keep quiet," Dynak told her firmly. "I was not there at them time, but was informed of this by Moth."

"Why does he want me?" she asked.

"He wants you dead," Dynak said softly. "We must leave."

Magoza began to physically tremble. If Burag wanted her dead, then there was nothing she could do. "Why?" Magoza said, tears starting to form in her eyes.

"We must leave now," Dynak said pushing her forward towards the exit of the small Orc hut.

"What about Mother!?" the young Orsimer asked loudly. "We cannot leave without her!?"

"There is nothing we can do for her now," Dynak said sombrely.

Dread filled Magoza's heart. Had something happened to mother? "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Burag slew her. She had been out very early gathering ingredients for me. When she returned he killed her."

The young Orsimer began to shake her head rapidly, tears beginning to stream down her face. "No, it cannot be!" she shouted.

Dynak lifted a book she had been holding in her hand and passed it to her. "Your mother gave me this before she saw Burag. I think she knew something would happen."

Magoza stared at the book. It was a spell tome, one of many that her mother had brought her. No doubt a present from her uncle Meratur, that lived in the nearby city of Jehanna. She reached out and took the book, clutching it tightly to her chest, tears filling her vision.

The Wise Woman gripped her by the shoulders. "Be strong young Orc. Burag has broken the tenants of Malacath."

Magoza pulled herself free of the elderly Orsimer's grip. "Then why didn't anyone stop him!?" she demanded.

"No one dare stand up to him, and half the stronghold has sided with him."

"I thought we were Orcs!" Magoza said, voice raised. "Isn't it their honour to Malacath or something!?" she almost screamed. "Isn't that what we're supposed to believe!"

The other Orc children were starting to stir. The commotion had roused them from their restful sleep. With no more time to lose, Dynak grabbed her by the shoulder with a surprisingly strong grip. She dragged her out of the hut, into the cold snowy mountain air of eastern High Rock. Magoza squirmed as they headed along the dirt towards the stronghold's main gate, her hands held tightly onto the book as she pressed it firm against herself.

Burag's voice echoed through the air. "You!" he shouted at them. His dark, Orcish sword and armour, covered in thick blood. He was stood about forty paces away in front of the large crescent-shaped long-house, which sides rose upwards from the ground to a point in the centre that was at least twenty-six feet in height.

Dynak shoved Magoza hard in the direction of the stronghold wooden gates, that lay between tall spiked log stockade style walls that had been sunk into the ground, making up the stronghold's perimeter. "Go!" she exclaimed. "Go to Jehanna and find your uncle Meratur!" she looked back at Burag. "I will try to calm him, or at least stall him." She glanced back to Magoza. "He will take you to the college, as promised to your mother. You will find your future there."

Magoza didn't know how Dynak knew what her mother wanted for her, but right now she didn't have time to find out. She ran quickly for the gate, only to find her advance was blocked by two of her brother Orcs, but who were of different mothers to her. She looked back as Dynak tried to block Burag's advance. Without a second thought, he turned his sword onto the Wise Woman, onto his own mother. He killed her where she stood, continuing onwards as if nothing had occurred. She turned back to the Orcs that blocked her way and shoved at them, hit them with the book, and screamed at the top of her lungs. They did not let her by. They remained stood fast, their arms folded, their faces fierce.

Suddenly an arrow struck one of them in the side of the head, he collapsed to the ground. The other let out a shout of anger as he drew his sword. Both he and Magoza looked up to the tall guard platform to the right, where the arrow had come from.

One of Magoza's sisters of another mother shouted to her, bow in hand. "Do as the Wise Woman said!" she shouted down to her. "Go!"

Behind her she heard shouting, as brothers and sisters began to attack each other, Burag's advance halted by the onslaught that struck him. The young Orc took the opportunity and fled through the gate, pushing at them hard. They began to move slowly, until there was a large enough gap for her to fit through. She would try to find her uncle Meratur, but wasn't sure what he could possibly do to help her. She knew that there was no way he could stand up to Burag.

Meratur, who she called uncle, wasn't really her uncle. He wasn't even Orsimer. He was an Altmer that had once served with her father Burag, and mother Bagol, in the Imperial Legion some years ago. He had visited the stronghold often, bringing supplies that they could not get by themselves. One day a few years back, Burag had told him never to return to the stronghold. She had rarely seen him since, and missed him terribly. Though mother had told her over again that before she got to age, and was expected to become the wife of another stronghold's chieftain, that both she and Meratur would take her to the College in Winterhold. There, she would better understand the secret of the great magicka they knew she held in her veins.

Now it looked like that wouldn't happen. It couldn't happen. Her mother was dead, and she was surely to be next. No one could stand up to Burag. He was said to be the strongest Orc there ever was. Whether that was true or just fantasy didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was able and judging by what he did to his own mother Dynak, killing her without so much as a shred of mercy, or remorse.

Magoza, with the book clutched tightly to her chest, ran for her very life, tears streaming down her face. She bolted down the dirt pathway, that had been worn into the mountainside, not daring to look back in case Burag was there, ready to slay her. Instead, she kept her eyes forward, locked on her destination, the city of Jehanna, which lay down towards the base of the mountains.

She quickly blasted any wolves that got near with fire bolts, from her free hand, which wasn't clutching the book. Several times, she nearly fell on the snow as she ran feverishly, but managed to keep her footing on the uneven terrain.

It had all happened so fast. The young Orsimer had no clue as to what exactly had occurred to make him so angry. All she knew was that their chieftain, her very father, had gone mad.

Several times she looked backwards to see if she could see anyone. With no one seemingly in pursuit, she finally slowed down to a fast walk, her breath heavy, her legs tired. If she was lucky, Burag would be killed in the fighting. Or see sense, and relinquish the madness that had engulfed him.

But luck was never something she truly believed in. Only time would tell his fate, only time would tell her own fate.

It had been at least a few hours when Magoza finally entered the city of Jehanna. She moved through the street, not paying attention to anything. Her mind was flooded with the thoughts of what had happened, and what was yet to happen.

She couldn't figure any of it out. Why had their chieftain killed her mother, why he had killed Dynak, his own mother? It made no sense to her. Had they done something terribly wrong? Had she done something wrong?

None of it made any sense. She hadn't done anything, all she had done was what was expected of her. For him to kill Gret, then her mother, who was his first wife, one of many. She couldn't find any meaning in it, as there was seemingly none to be found.

She bumped harshly into a middle aged Breton man, bringing her out of her reverie, nearly dropping the spell tome she held. He looked at her sternly, the nostrils on the end of his long angular nose flared.

"Watch where you're going!" he uttered angrily, throwing his hands into the air. "Don't you people pay attention any more!?"

Magoza was taken aback by the unexpected hostility towards her. He mumbled something and turned away, she grabbed his arm quickly with her free hand, hoping that he knew of her uncle's location. That if he got away, somehow, she would never find him. He tensed up as he turned back to her, ready to fight if he had to.

"Get off!" he shouted, yanking his arm free of her grip. "Can't just go around grabbin' people. Just because you're an Orc don't give you no rights, ya hear!?"

Magoza pleaded with him. "Do you know where Meratur lives?" her voice trembled as she spoke. "Please, help me."

The man's expression softened at her obvious plight. "Sorry?" he asked, unsure what she had just said.

"Meratur." She said again. "Please, do you know where he lives?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't recognise the name."

"Do you know someone who might?" she asked, her voice shaky. "He's lived here for years."

"Try one of the guards," the Breton man suggested. "If he's been here a while, then one of them might know."

She thanked him as she quickly moved onward, frantically looking around for said guards. She asked the first person she found that looked even remotely guard-like. He was another Breton, who wore some kind of chain-mail armour, held a steel shield, and a silver sword, which lay in its sheath on his right hip.

"Do you know where Meratur lives?" she asked the aged, pock-faced, dark haired Breton man before her. "You're a guard right?"

"No, I'm not a guard," the man replied.

"But you know where he lives right?"

"Meratur, the old High-Elf Legionnaire?" he questioned.

"Yes!" She nodded frantically. "Do you know where he lives!?"

A look of concern washed over the man's face. "Are you okay?" he asked her. "You look terrified."

Magoza shook her head. "I need his help, he can help me!"

As the Orc saw the pity on the Breton's face, she felt shame grow inside her. Her own fear made her feel weak, pitiful. She had never made a particularly good Orc, but today she had shown herself that she was nothing but a coward. A true Orc would never have run away. A true Orc would have stayed and fought. It was too late now. She was here and she wanted, desperately wanted to see her uncle Mera again.

The man put his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. She snatched herself away, not wanting any of the comfort he offered.

"Just take me to Meratur," she said, trying to sound braver than she felt.

"I know where he lives, though he left late last night. I don't know if he's returned yet."

"Do you know where he went?"

"Sorry, no."

"Please, just show me where he lives then." she implored.

The man agreed and lead her down the streets to a small house that lay between a row of other small houses, near the outskirts of the city. The man knocked on the door and waited. There was no answer.

"I don't think he's in," he said, after a few more knocks. "Look, I'll wait a while with you, but if he isn't back soon, then I suggest you head to the inn."

"I don't have any money," Magoza told him, fearful that she would have to spend the night sleeping in the street.

The man scratched the back of his head. "I guess you could go to the temple. They might be willing to help a soul in need."

"You think they will?" she asked unconvinced.

The man looked around before he turned back to Magoza. "Look, I'd offer something, but I have a family to consider. If I show up with you in tow, the wife'll have a fit."

She sat on the doorstep, her back to the door, clutching the spell book to her chest. It was the only thing from her mother she had left, the only connection she to her left. She hoped Meratur would return home soon. She needed to see someone she knew, someone who could take her far away from here.

Magoza looked down and noticed the snow covered street for the first time. All around her there was snow and ice. Her breath condensed as it left her mouth, forming clouds of steam.

The man sat down next to her. "Look, I might be able to find someone in town who is willing to let you sleep at their house."

The young Orc looked at him, a small smile spreading across her face. "You might?"

"Yes, might. And it will only be sleep. No food, no water. Just somewhere to sleep, that isn't the street."

"That would be very kind of you," she replied.

The Breton looked slightly uncomfortable. "Yes, well don't thank me, I haven't done anything yet." He looked up at the sky. "Give it another ten minutes. If your friend isn't back, then I'll go ask around for you."

Magoza's was about to thank the man, when she heard the familiar voice of Burag shout loudly, so loudly that it echoed across the sky, and made some birds in a nearby tree flee. "Magoza!"

"Oh, no!" she screamed. "He's found me!"

The Breton man rose quickly from where he sat and faced the advancing blood covered Orc. Burag drew his blade and held it high. The Kindly Breton man did the same, bringing his shield up ready to defend any blow.

"Guards!" the man shouted loudly.

Within moments a few guards came over to the location, drawing their swords at the sight of the bloodied Orc. In moments their swords began to collide.

Magoza rose up and ran in the opposite direction. The sounds of steel and orichalcum clashing, were like daggers in her ears. As she made it to the end of the street she looked back. More guards were joining the fight, the Breton man that had helped her was laying in the street, covered in blood. The guards being swiftly cut down also. She considered going back to try and help him, but knew if she did, Burag would kill her. She wasn't safe here. She had to go, get as far away as possible.

Meratur hadn't been there, and her thoughts instinctively went to the worst possible scenario. Burag had killed him as he had killed her mother, as he had killed her grandmother, the stronghold's Wise Woman. Her uncle was dead, everyone she knew was dead. All there was left now, was the future they had so wanted for her. The future that lay far away, out of her grasp.

She turned and ran as fast as she could through the maze of streets. She ran with only a single destination in mind. It was the place that her mother and uncle Meratur had told her they'd take her one day. A place where she could understand the strong gift of magic she had.

That place was the College of Winterhold. Unfortunately it lay far away, in the harsh land known as Skyrim. All she had to defend herself on the perilous journey was her magic and her small iron dagger. As far as she was concerned however, she didn't really have much of a choice.

Updated 01/03/2014