Chapter 1: Dungeons and Dragonborn
Disclaimer: My characters are mine. The setting belongs to the creators of the Elder Scrolls franchise.
Liselle was a mousy-haired young Breton woman with a small frame and a short temper. Dark eyes peered from a round, pale face, shaded by a brow that seemed naturally inclined towards the slight furrow of someone who is always concentrating on something. Like most Bretons, she had an almost instinctive compulsion towards magic and, as a natural extension, academics in general. Lost spells and forgotten artifacts were like gold and jewels to her, and like any adventurer seeking her fortune, ancient tombs and burial crypts called to her like a Siren song. Of course ancient magic wasn't the only thing she was after; she was a scholar, after all, and a scholar is curious about everything. She had set to work sketching and noting in her little brown journal the moment she was in sight of the crumbling Nord ruin: architecture, engineering, and artwork were all carefully considered; scraps of writing were meticulously copied from parchment and stone for future translation; and metalwork - be it weapon, armor, or jewelry - was given thoughtful examination alongside enchantments and alchemy. Mummification, or rather the mummies themselves, fascinated her. As it was her first time in an ancient Nord burial crypt, she took great delight in examining the preserved bodies up close.
She was rather alarmed, therefore, when the body of the warrior she was studying suddenly opened frosty glowing eyes, turned its head, and bellowed its displeasure most convincingly. Liselle shrieked and fell on her backside as she scrambled away as fast as she could. She wasn't even thinking well enough to trade her journal for the little steel dagger at her waist, not that the weapon would have been much use. She froze on the ground, staring in numb horror as the hulking corpse slid slowly from its alcove and lifted a vicious-looking obsidian battleaxe.
A strong hand grabbed her arm from behind and pulled her to her feet. She whirled around ready to shriek again, expecting another undead. Instead she met the laughing blue eyes of a boy, grinning like he'd just won a sweetroll.
"RUN!" he shouted at her, but he was already dragging her at a sprint out of the room and deeper into the crypt. The dead warrior gave chase, his bellow shaking half the mountainside as the boy gave a wild hoot. He dragged Liselle through the winding hall before tossing her into another room, leaping in after her and kicking a leaver on the floor. A rusty gate slammed down behind him.
The boy collapsed against the wall, laughing like a maniac. Liselle felt like her legs were about to give out and wanted very much to break down in tears on the spot. She didn't, but decided sitting down was probably safer than standing. The boy stopped laughing with a sigh, but his grin didn't waver as he glanced through the iron grate at the foiled warrior. Suddenly he sprang at Liselle, tackling her towards the wall. The Breton was about to punch him when a wall of force blasted through the grate and across the room, scattering everything that wasn't tied down and missing the young pair by a hand's length - a small hand, with stubby fingers. Liselle froze and the boy leaned back with a chuckle.
"Don't worry, he'll get bored in a few minutes," he said lightly, glancing around the room. The chamber was small and thankfully empty of anything resembling a mummified Nord. A half-moon table-altar-shelf-thing filled most of it, formerly covered by a scattering of embalming tools, linens, moldy books, and a handful of soulgems, swept clean by the warrior's shout. There were two other doorways, one leading behind the altar and the other directly across from where they'd come in.
The boy seemed content to stretch out on the floor and wait, propped up on his elbows as his eyes wandered casually. It took a while for Liselle to remember how important it was to breathe, but as she heard the disgruntled warrior grumbling and stomping away she managed to relax a little. She leaned against the wall and tucked her knees to her chest, expecting any moment that her heart would burst out and flop across the floor. It didn't, of course, and after a few minutes she regained a semblance of control. The boy seemed to notice and glanced at her curiously, and she took the opportunity to look at him properly.
He was almost certainly a Nord, with straight, straw-colored hair just long enough to hang in rascally blue eyes. She'd considered him a boy, but realized now that he was probably only a few years younger than herself. He was short for a Nord - which was still taller than most - and she suspected he hadn't quite finished growing. The term "wiry" described him admirably, she decided; she'd have considered "skinny" but for the ease with which he had tossed her around. He wore a light sort of armor of blue and black leather covered with pockets, pouches, buckles, and presumably all manner of hidden sleeves and compartments. His hood was down, but she imagined it would cover his head and eyes with that same little mysterious and dramatic shadow always talked about in stories. Two swords hung at his left hip: one looked like a shard of ice, its blade pale blue and glassy with a frigid mist rolling across its surface; the second was a vicious black and red affair with a spiked hilt and serrated blade. Another just like it was slung over the young man's left shoulder, and a dagger of the same style hung at his right hip. The only other thing he carried was a plain brown sack slung across his back.
An absent smile played on the boy's lips as he returned her look for a moment before springing to his feet in a single fluid motion. He stepped with easy silence towards the door that lead behind the altar, sidling through and poking his head around the corner.
"Ah ha!" he declared happily, and Liselle stood (with a good deal less grace) to see what had caught his eye.
In the room behind the altar was a simple stone pedestal on which rested a flawless black onyx skull, detailed in silver and adorned with glittering rubies, sapphires, and amethyst. As casually as you could like, the boy strolled over to the skull, examined it for a moment, and promptly plucked it from its resting place. There was a loud click and Liselle screamed and covered her eyes, unable to watch as a dozen iron spikes burst from the walls, ceiling, and floor to impale the oblivious young man. She expected to hear his cries of agony, his body hitting the floor with a sickening squelch as blood poured from gaping wounds, his last shuddering breaths as he died.
"Hm."
The sound was so unexpected she opened her fingers to look at what she had been sure was going to be yet another horror on this nightmare of an expedition. She could only stare in shock.
The boy had somehow managed to be in exactly the right spot so that not a single spike even grazed him. He'd spared a moment to look at the rusty spears that surrounded him, like they were a joke he'd seen too many times to really appreciate any more, and then returned to examining the skull in his hands. The spikes slowly withdrew as the trap reset, and he slung the sack from his shoulder to deposit his new treasure before turning back to the astonished Breton.
"Does that happen often?" she stammered.
"Mmhm!" the boy nodded happily.
Indeed, as the two continued trekking deeper and deeper into the Tomb of Terrors (as Liselle would always afterwards call it), the unshakably cheerful young man seemed to trigger and narrowly escape every trap they came across. Volleys of poison darts would clatter where he'd stood not half a moment before; spiked walls would swing out just a hair too quickly to catch him; hanging blades seemed perfectly timed to his unbroken stride; spikes missed; pillars of flame were always too quick or too late; pools of oil exploded just next to him; falling logs were just an inch too short to reach, or swung over his head just as he bent to snatch a random coin; pit traps collapsed only the moment he'd finish crossing them.
Liselle wanted to tear her hair out in frustration when she realized he was doing it all on purpose. She realized he was showing off when he paused, glanced around, and stepped on a pressure plate so obvious even she could see it. The boy was incorrigible.
Their progress was astonishing, even so. Every locked door or chest they came across was picked open in moments, but the boy thief (what else could he be?) ignored all treasures except those, like the onyx skull, surrounded by traps. He didn't wait for Liselle to jot notes in her journal or take charcoal rubbings, and his preferred strategy for dealing with undead warriors - of which Liselle saw more than enough for many lifetimes - was to run through their maze-like catacombs laughing like a madman before locking them behind iron gates or leading them through their own traps. Even the frazzled scholar couldn't resist giggling as a half dozen of the creatures were in one fell swoop launched from a narrow bridge by a swinging wall of spikes. On the rare occasion this strategy failed, the young man would draw his swords and cleave through the monsters like they were paper.
One room was different. The dark-clad thief suddenly crouched in the shadows and became almost invisible. He yanked Liselle back from the open door before she could pass through and motioned for silence as his eyes swept the wide chamber. The laughter that had lit his face faded and changed, no less gleeful but infinitely more malicious. He drew a small potion vial from a pocket and handed it to the Breton. Liselle opened it and sniffed it curiously, instantly recognized it as a powerful invisibility solution. The young man pointed to the occupants of the room.
The chamber was wide and tall, the only other exit blocked by two giant wooden doors. In the center of the floor was a large circular depression, like a fighting ring. Nine granite coffins lined the ring, and three high-backed stone chairs rose on the far side. On each rested powerfully built and ornately appointed warriors, withered by eons but no less deadly for it, Liselle knew now.
"When I say 'hide,' you drink that and take cover," the boy said, eyes still darting about the room. He grinned again and the young woman got ready for another sprint.
With a gleeful hoot the thief sprang forward. Nine granite coffins burst open, their lids crashing around the room as the two dashed to the wooden gates. Liselle realized she'd arrived first and threw herself against the doors, just strong enough to make a gap large enough to slip through. In a moment the boy followed, slamming the gate shut and wedging the hinges with a pair of old swords. He collapse against the huge timbers and sank to the floor, nearly cackling. Liselle noticed a large copper and onyx claw in his hands.
They both froze when the sound of an axe thudded against the doors, the boy grinning even wider. "Come on!" He leapt up and dragged her down the wide hall, past stone etchings and reliefs that just begged to be studied. He didn't give her the chance, stopping only when they reached a strange circular door formed by three concentric stone rings. The thief glanced at the claw in his hands before tossing it to her and grasping the outer ring. With a heave he turned it, then the second ring, then the third. A rending crash made them whirl to look behind them. The ancient wooden gates were nearly obliterated by the combined shouts of twelve Nord warriors. The thief snatched the claw back and locked it into the center of the puzzle door, twisting it until there was a loud click and the stone gate crashed downwards.
What greeted them was clearly the final room. A vaulted ceiling arched above them, and some hundred yards further three elaborate coffins rested on a raised dais, a black stone pedestal rising at the foot of each. Etchings covered the walls, and chests of what was presumably treasure were scattered about. Liselle didn't see any way out.
"HIDE!" the boy shouted, and Liselle almost forgot the invisibility potion she was still holding before dashing off to duck behind a pile of rubble. With another crash she heard the great wooden gates give way behind them, and peaked her head out to see what had become of the boy thief.
She screamed at him when she saw him still standing in the doorway, but her shout was drowned out by the boom of three coffin lids as they flew from the dais. A trio of Nord wizards floated from the coffins, fingers crackling with magic and masked faces gleaming with cruelty. The boy glanced at them, narrowly dodging a lightning bolt from behind, when the twelve warriors from the last room ran forward.
The boy drew his two black swords, twirling one cheekily. He said something, but Liselle couldn't hear it for the grunts and growls of the undead. Suddenly the boy straightened, inhaled deeply, and shouted:
"TIID KLO UL!"
Five ancient black arrows shot at him and Liselle could only gape as he plucked them from the air. In the next instant he vanished.
When he reappeared a moment later it was behind one of the offending archers, whose head now bounced across the floor. The boy vanished again, and another archer fell. Three more times he disappeared, and three more times he slew a warrior so quickly he seemed to be in two places at once.
He seemed to grow bored with this tactic, and when the last archer fell he engaged the nearest warrior directly. One of the undead gave a shout, ringing with power, and the boy flipped away as the crashing force collided with his enemy, sending it careening into the wall. The thief ducked and twisted, dancing around the creatures as they bellowed and screeched. Fire, ice, and lightning exploded about them as the undead wizards pelted them all with magic. Finally the boy lifted his hands, glowing with his own power, and his enemies exploded with holy flame.
The undead milled about in panic as the boy sheathed his swords, raised his hands again, and enclosed himself in a magic circle.
Magical fire erupted at his feet again and again, crashing over the mindless warriors until nothing was left but charred husks. Lightning crackled around his fingertips, and with a thunderous roar he unleashed it against the three circling wizards. Their wards shattered in moments, and one after the other they dissolved into so much enchanted ash.
The chamber grew silent.
Liselle watched the boy glance around, eyes aglow. Suddenly she realized one of the archers hadn't been as dead as she thought. "Look out!"
The blonde boy spun just as the warrior was raising its bow.
"FUS RO DAH!"
And that was the end of that.
The mousy-haired young woman crept from her hiding place as the invisibility potion wore off. She said nothing, just staring at the blonde thief. He returned her stare easily and for nearly a minute no one said anything.
"Who are you?" she demanded finally. The boy just grinned.
From the Author:
Hello! Thank you for reading the first of what I hope to by many chapters of an entertaining Skyrim fanfic. Here are some things I thought you might like to know going in.
This story starts off with a very high-level Dragonborn, as you can probably tell. The "current events" of the story will focus on him and Liselle. Past adventures will be featured in their own chapters or chapter-arcs. Most major quest lines will be explored, but this is not a walkthrough. Additionally, the outcome of many quests or quest lines may [will] be different from those found in-game.
As far as game mechanics go, there are a few changes. First and foremost, damage is not as straightforward as Health Points. Characters possess "vitality" that lets them turn hard hits into close shaves, and as that vitality runs out during a fight they start to take actual and significant damage. Magic can be cast even when both hands are being used, and food and potions cannot be consumed instantly. Master-level spells do not render the character immobile, do not need to be dual-cast (though can be, to increase the effect), and do not have a charge-time greater than normal for a spell with a high magicka cost.
Skyrim is also quite a bit bigger than the game would suggest. Those of you who have memorized certain lines and lore will recognize that in a few chapters.
I will attempt to abide by the laws and standards of the game, such as weapon damage and health, in order to determine the possibility of an action. This also applies to character skills and perks. For those curious, the Dragonborn is wearing the thief Guild Master armor and is carrying Chillrend, two daedric swords, and a daedric dagger in this chapter. His armament will change throughout the story. The effective game difficulty is "Master."
The shout "Tiid Klo Ul" is the Slow Time thu'um, which I have interpreted as only slowing down time for the Dragonborn, and to everyone else it just seems like he moves really really fast.
If you don't know what "Fus Ro Dah" is, GTFO the internet.