Imperial Province of Skyrim, 4E 201
"And the Scrolls have foretold, of Black Wings in the cold, that when brothers wage war, come unfurled." – Song of the Dragonborn.
On the day of Tirdas, first of Frost Fall, the High King of Skyrim was slain. His throne was challenged, by right of Nordic custom, by Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Eastmarch. Using the power of Thu'um, learned from time spent with the Order of the Greybeards, the usurper Ulfric shouted the High King into pieces for all of his court to witness, proclaiming himself the new High King of Skyrim. In the weeks that followed, many Nords proclaimed loyalty to Ulfric and, by extension, the liberation of Skyrim. The Imperial Legion was sent in to deal with this uprising, in an attempt to unify the people of the Empire. Now, they seek to rout the Stormcloak Rebellion and restore order to their province. The Elder Scrolls, however, have a will more powerful than both mer and men, and their prophecy will not be forfeit.
Third of Sun's Dusk, En Route to Helgen, 4E 201
"Finally awake, are you Kinsman?" The Nord across from me inquired. I drearily opened my eyes and met his gaze. He smiled, even though I knew what awaited us at the end of this carriage ride.
"Tried to cross the border into Hammerfell?" He asked, an eyebrow raised but his overall expression still upbeat.
"Yeah, never saw that accursed ambush coming." I said, thinking back to the pass into Hammerfell. Those sodding Imperials, trying to catch everyone trying to leave Skyrim. I hope their ancestor's weep in Sovngarde.
"Yeah, neither did we, or that thief." The Nord said, nodding over to a small and scared man at the back of the carriage. This man looked on the verge of tears, be they from anger or sorrow.
"Skyrim was fine before you Stormcloaks came along. The Empire was nice and lazy. Me and that horse could've been halfway to Hammerfell by now." He said, his voice thick with bitter resentment for the Rebellion. I scoffed. Skyrim would be better off without those Imperial bastards.
"You, we shouldn't be hear," the Thief said, meeting my gaze. His eyes swarmed with fear. "It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants, not us."
The other Nord spoke before I could, "We're all brothers-in-binds now, thief."
"Quiet back there!" the Driver shouted. I tried to spit in his direction, but found my mouth dry. What I wouldn't give for a drop of mead.
The thief looked at the last prisoner in the carriage, whom I had not yet taken notice of, who sat silent by way of a gag.
"What's his problem?" the Thief spat, which greatly angered the Nord across from me.
"Watch your tongue, Thief! You speak to Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" the Nord said angrily, baring his teeth at the Thief who spoke so far out of turn.
"Ulfric, the leader of the Stormcloaks?" The Thief said, panic rising in his voice. "If you're here, then…Oh Gods, where are they taking us?"
"I do not know, but Sovngarde awaits." The Nord said, his tone actually dropping from its upbeat manner into a more somber tone.
I looked around, surveying the landscape, attempting to gauge where exactly I was and, maybe, where the Imperials were taking us.
"Helgen," I said. "This road leads to Helgen. A Stronghold for the Imperials."
The carriage sat quiet, save for the Thief praying to the Nine.
"Hey, Horse Thief, what village are you from?" the Nord rebel inquired, his voice still in its serious tone. The Thief shot him an angry look.
"Why do you care?" he replied bitterly.
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." The Rebel replied, the nature of our carriage ride now becoming obvious. The Imperials were taking us to be executed.
"And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies!" I sang quietly to myself, remembering that old bard's song that Mother often sang in the tavern at night. The others continued their conversation, save Ulfric, who was gagged.
"Rorikstead. I-I'm from Rorikstead." The Thief replied, a sad calmness in his voice. The poor soul was struggling with accepting his death.
"And what of you, Kinsman?" the Rebel asked, shaking me from a half-trance as I contemplated my own end.
"Solstheim. I hail from Solstheim." I told him, remembering the frozen island that I called home in my youth, and all the Dunmer that lived there. Father despised them, and eventually convinced Mother to move to Riften, and that was the place I called home for a brief period of time before moving to a farm in the Reach.
"General Tullius, sir!" Our driver called to a man clad in gilded armor. That bastard was the commander of the Imperial Legion and the largest army of backstabbers and High-Elf lovers. Damn those High-Elves and their Aldmeri Dominion.
"The Headsman awaits!" Tullius called back, motioning for the gatekeeper to allow the carriage entrance to Helgen.
The Thief prayed to his Eight Divines, leaving out Talos, as most weak-minded Nords have done since the end of the Great War.
The carriage came to a halt infront of Helgen's Keep, with the executioner waiting to earn his keep. Another carriage, this one filled entirely with Stormcloaks, pulled alongside us. The Rebels filed out and joined our small cluster of soon-to-be dead men.
When the Guards began to call us up to the block, the Thief panicked. I looked down as he ran off and tried to escape, only to be shot in the back by an Imperial archer. Poor way to die, Horse-Thief.
"Wait, this one's not on the list." A guard called out, gesturing at me. The intervening guard asked me my name.
"I am Roran Broken-Sword, of Solstheim." I answered proudly, wanting to spit in the face of the backstabbing Imperial infront of me.
"Yeah, he's not on the list." The guard said, looking at his captain, an Imperial woman who looked far too proud to wear the armor of a captain.
"It doesn't matter, Hadvar. He goes to the block." She said, her eyes filled with hatred for my kind. I returned her gaze. Hadvar apologized and then two guards shoved me in the direction of the block.
A faint roar echoed in the distance.
"What was that?" one of the guards said. The captain ordered him to continue with the executions.
Another roar, this time closer.
"Again?" Another guard said, stopping to look skyward.
"Get on with it!" The captain yelled, frustrated with the short attention spans of the guards.
A third roar. Then the air shuddered with enough force to rattle the cobblestone street.
"By the Nine, what is that!" A guard yelled, pointing to the sky. All that were gathered in the square looked upwards, jaws dropped, and I remembered a long forgotten verse from an even more ancient song.
"Alduin, Bane of Kings, Ancient Shadow Unbound." I whispered. The guards turned to each other, shouting and screaming.
"Don't just stand there, kinsman, run!" The other Nord, who I learned was named Ralof, shouted at me. I stumbled out of the headsman's block and ran awkwardly to the tower that Ralof had called me to.
"What in Sovngarde is that?" Ralof asked, looking for answers in Ulfric, who was unbound and ungagged.
"A dragon, I do believe." Ulfric replied, rubbing a raw spot on his wrist.
Ralof's voice gained a note of panicked disbelief.
"A dragon? Then, the legends are true? The end-times are upon us?" he asked, his eyes going wide with shock.
"Legends don't raze towns," Ulfric said. "Now come on, let's move." And with that, we began moving up the tower, looking for anything we could use to fight off the dragon.
As we reached the second level, the tower shuddered, and then the head of that fowl beast shattered the wall and filled the chamber with fire. Behind the roar of the flames, I could almost hear words, as if the flame was conjured by some ancient incantation from the beast's maw.
"Kinsman, you see that inn? Jump!" Ralof shouted, shoving me through the hole created by the dragon. I threw myself at the inn, rolling as I landed in the second floor.
The floor, however, had other ideas. Weak from fire damage, the wood cracked under my frame and sent me crashing into the first floor of the inn.
I picked myself up off the floor, choking on the smoke that filled the lower level of the inn. Stumbling through darkness, I managed to find my way outside, into a side alley that I hoped would hide me from the dragon.
A man called for his child, who was hiding under a wagon in the street.
"Prisoner! With me!" Hadvar called. I looked at the filthy Imperial Soldier, letting him know that he was absolute scum and, if it weren't for impending doom, I would kill him where he stood.
The Dragon roared again as he made another pass over Helgen, his fiery breath filling the air, blistering several Imperial guards as they fell dead from his might.
As I followed Hadvar, we passed several Imperial Mages, trying to fight fire with fire. Those pathetic mages couldn't manage to fell the beast, and met a gruesome end by his infernal blaze.
Hadvar and I entered the Keep's courtyard, and I heard a familiar voice call out to us.
"Kinsman! We meet again!" Ralof called out, approaching Hadvar and I. He looked over at Hadvar and frowned.
"Ralof! You traitorous scum!" Hadvar yelled, his loyalty to the Empire showing strong. Ralof scowled at him.
"It is you who is the traitor!" Ralof yelled back, angry with the Nord Legionary.
"Kinsmen! Now is not the time!" I yelled, attempting to diffuse this utterly pointless situation. Hadvar and Ralof both looked at me crossways, and I finished my statement.
"We need to escape. In-case you've forgotten, there is a sodding dragon razing the town!"
"He is right," Hadvar said, sheathing his blade. "If you come with me, I'll see you both pardoned for your crimes."
"You can eat your pardon, Hadvar. I go free by my own ways!" Ralof shouted, running towards the main hall of the keep.
"Come, kinsman. Hopefully you see reason." Hadvar invited. I spat in his face and followed Ralof into the keep.
Helgen Keep, 4E 201, Skyrim
"Glad to be away from those Imperials, eh kinsman?" Ralof said as we entered the keep, stopping to cut the bindings from my wrists. Afterwards, he walked over to a fallen comrade and retrieved his weapon and removed his armor.
"Take these. Bjarn won't need them now." Ralof said, handing me a War Axe and a set of armor, styled in the way of the Stormcloaks.
"Thank you, kinsman." I whispered in Bjarn's direction, thankful for his last act of honor.
Ralof motioned for us to hide, and I heard voices coming from a nearby corridor. One of them belonged to that damn Imperial Captain. Ralof put a finger to his lips and reached for his blade. I weighed the axe in my hand, desperate to trade it for something more…elegant. Axes were not my strong suite.
"Shh! Thought I heard something." The Captain said as they rounded the corner.
"Now!" Ralof yelled, springing from his concealed position and felling the guardsmen. I threw my axe and smiled as it split the smug skull of that guard captain.
"Imperial scum." I spat at her corpse. Taking my time, I gathered some of their gear, including a sword, a pair of boots, and some bracers. Ralof nodded in approval of my kill.
"Quite the arm you've got, kinsman. Did I catch your name?" He said, attempting to build camaraderie between us. I met his gaze with a stern glance.
"Roran Broken-Sword, of Solstheim. " I told him, Nordic pride again flowing into my tone. That forsaken island would forever be my birthplace.
"Solstheim? Didn't think any kinsmen still lived there, what with all the grayskins." Ralof replied. I shot him a glance of disdain at the racial slur.
"The Dunmer are as honorable a race as any, even for elves. They fight well, and work harder than most folk realize." I said, my rebuke laden with a lifetime of personal experience. Though I despised High Elves, I had seen firsthand how the Dunmer live. They are treated like second-class citizens at best, animals at worst. It is not a just punishment for their past crimes. Even they share a Nord's hatred of the Altmer.
"Sorry, kinsman. Didn't mean to offend." Ralof said semi-apologetically. I merely shook my head and moved on. The keep still rattled occasionally from the onslaught of the dragon. I felt a brief spell of remorse for the Imperials as they died in a battle they could not hope to win.
"By Talos, what kins of place is this?" Ralof said in a disgusted wondering. I snapped back to reality to realize we had reached some kind of…torture room.
"It's a…torturing chamber. Those damned Imperials!" I half-growled, furious with the way they treated their enemies. Even the Altmer don't deserve this.
"Halt! Who do you think you are?" a hooded guardsmen called out, holding a raised hand in our direction. I looked and saw the tell-tale spark of magicka flickering around his extended hand, the devious grin slowly devouring his face. Without even so much as a thought, I reached forward and tapped into a deep well of power within me, unleashing a jet of pure flame directed at the Inquisitor's face.
"Die Imperial!" I roared as he fell to the ground, clutching at the burning flesh on his treacherous face.
"Hold traitor!" A guard yelled, charging into the room to defend his comrade. I drew out my newly acquired sword and redirected the flames at him. He swung, briefly parting the stream of fire. The distraction was just long enough for me to stage a counterattack.
As the guard readied a return swing, I parried and then stepped in for the kill strike while he was staggered. A clang of metal, and the sound of blade piercing both armor and flesh filled the air as I slew the guardsman. Ralof brought his axe down on the dying guard to finish him off.
"Sovngarde take you." He said to the guard, spitting on his corpse.
"Kinsmen! Over here" a voice called to us. I looked and saw two Stormcloaks locked inside of a cell unfit for an animal. I answered them by heating the lock and then bashing it in while the metal was still pliable.
They looked at me with astonishment before leaving the cell.
"Thank you kinsman, and well-met to you both." The smaller one, a young girl by the looks of her, said graciously. I nodded and pointed them to a storage chest on the other side of the room.
"Take what you can. I'll see if there's anything in the other cells." I said, moving for the sole remaining occupied cell. In it was a single mage. I picked the lock to this one, finding several lock-picks on the ground outside. The poor soul must have tried to escape. I checked his person for anything of value, finding a few septims and a spell tome. I also relieved him of his robes, favoring them over the semi-bulky Stormcloak cuirass Ralof had retrieved from Bjarn's body. Quickly changing, I could feel the power of their enchantment filling me with that semi-substantial energy all magically affluent know as magicka. I kept the Imperial boots and bracers I had "borrowed" from the guards. They would come in handy until I could find some better armor, as would the robes. Also in the room was a quiver of simple, yet useful, iron arrows. Looting several more from the dead guard, I slung the quiver over my shoulder and followed Ralof on his way out of the chamber.
"I'm Ralof, by the way." He said to the liberated rebels. They introduced themselves as Grod and Svella, both from Ivorstead. I told them my name, as always, with that same bit of pride that only I would ever understand. Though my father and mother still live in the Reach, I would always been a child born of Solstheim, and a true Son of Skyrim.
Following Ralof's lead, we entered an old cave system that had obviously been used as an old escape route in the elder times.
"Hold, kinsmen." Ralof said in a hushed tone, crouching down to avoid detection by an adversary we had yet to see.
"Imperials. Follow my lead." He said, drawing out a dagger. Svella followed,nocking an arrow while Grod hefted his warhammer, obviously lacking in the area of subtlety. Ralof twirled the dagger in his hand, holding by the blade, and hurled it at the skull of an unfortunate Imperial guard. Svella loosed her arrow within seconds of Ralof's release. Two of the five Imperials fell dead, and that was all Grod needed.
"For Skyrim!" He roared as he charged their position, taking an arrow from the surviving archer. Svella returned fire, pinning an arrow through the archer's traitorous throat.
I readied my sword and stepped into the charge of one of the remaining guardsmen, sending my blade through his torso as he realized the folly of his charge.
Grod finished off the last Imperial by crushing his skull under the head of his warhammer. We took a moment to breath in our success before parting ways, Svella and Grod taking off down a fork in the cave system.
"Looks like it's back to just you and me, eh?" Ralof joked, handing me the dead archer's longbow. "You may need this."
I nodded in thanks and continued through the cave, wincing as I noticed the increasing presence of cobwebs. This could only mean one thing, and my suspicions were proven true as we entered a moderately sized cavern.
"Frostbite Spiders." Ralof and I said simultaneously. I bore a personal hatred of all things arachnid, and these big uglies were no different.
The hideous monsters, as if on cue, turned to face us at that moment. In those few tense moments before they lurched toward us, I counted the eyes of each one. Eight, sixteen, twenty-four…128 eyes total. Not allowing panic to set in, I readied my sword and my spell and charged the horde of eight-legged monstrosities. Unleashing fire from the palm of my hand, two of the ugly creatures back away shrieking, another felled by my blade. Ralof split two more open while I continued to convert the spider den into a bonfire. As the last one fell, we took to the unpleasant task of gathering their venom, which we both knew was both potent and useful.
"So, I take you hate these things too?" Ralof said as we milked the venom from the creatures' fangs.
"Yeah, ever since I was little. Too many legs and eyes." I answered, continuing with the unpleasant task. We finished rather quickly. After stowing the poison in our satchels, we continued through the cave, only stopping when entering a bear's den.
"If you feel lucky, you could maybe get in a good shot with that bow. Or we could just sneak around her." Ralof said, his voice hushed and calm. He apparently was prepared for either event.
"Well, I do indeed feel lucky, kinsman." I said, dipping my arrow in some of our newly collected Frostbite venom. Smirking as I nocked the arrow, crept onto a nearby ledge, and then took aim at the Cave Bear's thick neck as she slept, unaware of my presence. Loosing the arrow, I heard the satisfactory thunck of impact. Readying my flames, I allowed the injured bear to charge me and, when the poison took hold midway, baptized it in fire.
"It kills, and it cooks!" Ralof said with a light chuckle. I grinned as the bear slowly roasted in my magical flames, and when we knew she was dead we walked on. Shortly thereafter, we found the exit to this accursed cave system. Nothing against Helgen, but I am never coming back here.