I am Dragonborn. Dovahkiin. Legendary hero of Skyrim. Dragon in human form. The ultimate Dragon slayer. It's not all the time that I have those ceremonial names accompanying my reputation. More often than not the people of Skyrim fear or loathe my existence, until of course I save them from some dire situation that usually involves something gargantuan like the beast I am chasing right now. The people of Morthal didn't exactly welcome me with open arms but they thanked their gods I was there the moment they spotted this frost dragon descend towards their pathetic excuse for a town. Part of me truly wished I had allowed it to snatch one of the guards, but I suppose even I have some kind of grace still dwelling inside of me.

But even the remaining grace I have left is dwindling with every interaction I have with the friendly folks of Skyrim. Still, I do it for redemption…

I shook that thought off as I shoot another bolt at its direction, eliciting a howl of pain from me attacking the same open wound. On any given day a dragon would fly higher to evade danger from below, but I made sure that when it gave me the required proximity with my blade that I struck vital areas of its wing-arm so that flight would be excruciatingly painful. Still, the distance between us does not exactly allow me to deal the damage I yearn to give it. Though judging from direction it is heading, Eldersblood Peak is the place it would attempt for refuge and the place that would give me the proper altitude I need to finally end this. Giving Arvak a slight nudge with my foot, the undead horse gallops forward with more speed, tearing through the snow with both its weight and the hellfire. It avoids the ruins and trees along our way as it concurs with my conviction of reaching the mountains before the beast. In the mean time I shoot the dragon again, causing it to stumble in flight while it roars.

"Even in DEATH Alduin mocks me!" I shout at the beast, taunting it, and with another bolt hitting it at the right area, I know it hears and feels my threat. "He leaves me legacies such as you! Worthless, flying excrement!" I shoot again and quickly reloading right after. "Your existence is a mere reminder for the people of Skyrim that you are entertainment for the Dragonborn! Your bones are for the giants to pillage for their tools! Accept reality, beast!" I shoot once more and watch intently as the bolt hits the beast at its belly. "You are a laughingstock! Your kin before and after you are all just scare tactics for children!"

My aim is absolute and the moment the last word was thrown, I press the trigger on Avarice and it took less than a few blinks before the crossbow does its damage, hitting the area where the 'arm' meets the body. The dragon falters again and it flies crookedly for a few moments before regaining some of its composure. Despite the dragon's built of having spikes cover its back and other random areas of its body, the bolts I have bombarded it sticks out like a sore thumb. An obvious answer as to why its flight is furthered hindered aside from the abysmal cut it gained from Muramasa earlier. While still howling in agonizing pain, the dragon alters its direction and makes an effort to descend towards me. Angry, in pain, and obviously desperate, the dragon is now trying to go back to its offensive, having been convinced that I was not going to relent on my attack. I want it dead... so let it come.

"That's it! You gained some of your fortitude!"

It opens its jaws and with an ear piercing shout, the dragon omits a breath of frost that would undoubtedly be fatal to anyone else but me, though I'm not exactly in the mood to feel that kind of pain right now and luckily Arvak agrees; feigning right, the trail of 'cold fire' destroys the ground not too far from me, leaving a trail of frozen destruction behind the attack. Having missed me entirely and its tactic quite obvious, I turn my body and aim Avarice again and let loose as much bolts as I can as the dragon tries to regain some altitude. Four I was able to fire, but only three really did its damage. Though that would be good enough for me since I have gained the proper footing that I needed to end this before it even reaches its 'solace'… if that is even the word to call Eldersblood Peak; more like a tomb for the dumb beast. Managing to turn itself back towards the direction it was intending to go before I taunted it, it clumsily flies onward with me in lead. It tries to retaliate from my earlier assaults yet again by shouting projectiles of ice spears at my direction, which were easily evaded or hilariously deterred by the trees that Arvak is weaving through in zigzag like patterns. I half wanted to let out another gloat but refrained since I am near the mountain. Sheathing Avarice on its holster behind me, I concentrate on making sure I don't fall off Arvak since we are trekking higher on the mountains and soon enough, the path is too steep for even Arvak to travel on the same pace as he has the last few moments. Still, with the dragon faltering in flight, I have the proper lead that I needed to get pass the hurdle mountain rocks and gravity, and it doesn't take long until I am able to get to the proper area where the land is flat.

For a moment I take in the view of Lost Valkygg that can be seen in the distance. I suppose it can be considered a beautiful view, but that is quickly blocked by the brooding image of the frost dragon wailing towards me with its not so graceful flight path. Smirking slightly inside my helmet, I nudge Arvak to move forward towards the edge of the mountain where a certain death would meet anyone who would fall from its height and suffice to say, I'm not exactly planning on plummeting to my death. At least not alone… as the dragon charges forward, I take out Muramasa, grasping it with my right hand as the undead horse of mine meets the beast's pace. Finally seeing an advantage it has with the narrow space I am in, the dragon releases another breath of cold fire and its path is straight towards me, giving Arvak very little to no room to maneuver. Of course, there isn't much else I expected this beast to do in regards to his attack. With proper timing, I push off from Arvak, letting the conjured horse take the full wrath of the frozen flame. If this was any other mount that would've been a cruel tactic even for me, but at the very least Arvak can be summoned again at any time he is needed; right now, the battle takes to the air.

They say a Dragonborn's soul is that of a dragon trapped within the confines of a mortal body. There have been a handful of Dovahkiin's before me; I fought the eldest one some time ago apparently. He may have been the first but he wasn't the best; he was more or less an aberration of me. From what I have heard, every one before me all had different roles and points of view … though all of them have one thing in common with me: wings do not sprout from our backs willingly, at least not like this beast. But the lack of certain limbs or stature doesn't exactly go against me; I do posses some of their powers. A dragon's voice is malleable to my every whim… and for this case I need to rush forward faster than the wind. The distance between my assailant and I was great but not troublesome. The attention he gave decimating the area I was in gave me the proper momentum I needed to get this far, though to its credit, the beast is able to compose itself and notice that I am just above it and coming down with my blade in tow. It could evade and let me fall to my death, it could panic and let me cut through it and claim its soul, or it could do what it did and reposition itself so that it would be in maximum posture for a proper bellow of its frost breath. It got confident and as it slightly poises its head back with the curl of its neck, it accumulates as much as it can, its chest expanding for a few moments before it lunges its head forward and follows up with a howl of its frost heading straight towards me. Taking the hilt of Muramasa with both hands as I swing downwards, I push towards the beast with undeniable speed, meeting the trajectory of its attack in full glory with my own strike.

"I was right!" I meet the blistering cold air that this dragon omits which immediately slows down the speed of my fall. With Muramasa in front and glowing with power, I form an unintended shield that is more or less 'cutting' through the cold fire, keeping the majority of me safe from its attack. "You are a worthless excrement! You had the opportunity to escape with your life, and you choose to die! Don't you know? The cold doesn't bother me at all!"

The beast omits more of its frost with as much ferocity as it can as I remain in position with the same amount of tenacity in me. A standstill between a dragon's wrath and a dragon slayer's blade… the sight from below must be both intimidating and aspiring, but for anyone who has truly tried to stand obstinately in front of a dragon's shout as boldly as this probably never had the chance to tell the glory of how it feels. But I am Dragonborn. Dovahkiin. Alduin's bane and the hope for the pitiful people of Skyrim. With that thought in mind I push forward, gathering energy and shouting with fury, letting the power of my body, my sword, and my conviction take me towards my target. The stalemate ends and I gradually move towards the beast to its disdain. Struggling to maintain its position, the dragon's attack starts to dwindle in cruelty, and soon gravity takes over me as well, and with that and all the other factors that are helping me push towards its direction, the moment where the crimson blade meets its prey is now.

Darkness.

A warrior no matter his prowess will always blink at the moment of truth during his attack. For that moment of blackness, I barely hear the painful cry of the beast; I barely feel the friction, or for that moment, I am oblivious to my free fall. But soon the darkness dispersed and my eyes can catch the sight of half the dragon's face, and the rest of its body flailing aimlessly not too far away. I cut a path through it and now I am falling towards an unlikely lethal fall towards trees and dense snow. Though it would be an unfitting end for the Dragonborn to die falling; it would've been a far worse of a death if I didn't have a plan in suit for such a dare devil tactic. Luckily, I'm not one to die for such a maneuver. Taking a deep breath, I let out a whisper, one that I haven't uttered for some time now. The chilling energy surrounds me, swallowing my every form, and in a matter of moments, I become an ethereal being falling from the skies. It's a strange feeling falling from the sky in a spectral like form, though it's a better feeling than what I would feel if I hit the ground in a bloody, disheveled mess.

The moment of landing is of course opposite of what it would be if I were not in ethereal form. The feeling is best described as a spec of snow hitting the ground. No sound, no weight, no distortion, not a single thing was bothered the moment I landed. The trees remained still, the snow below me has no bearings of my arrival, and of course my body remains unscathed with such a fall. I slowly ease myself off the crouching position and into a standing posture, well aware of the carcass of the dragon falling not too far from me. The greater half somewhere, tumbling down the mountain behind me while the smaller half ironically landing close. It almost amazes me just how quick a dragon will turn from flesh to bones the moment of its death… and in those moments of its decomposing, the life force of the beast enters me in the form of energy in thread like flares. I feel the power… I feel strength… my vigor renewed… in these few moments, I take a deep breath and close my eyes. One of the few solace I take from being me: The Dragonborn. Every skull of a dragon is like a trophy I leave behind to remind the land that they are safe for a time; at least safe from these creatures since I do take pleasure in slaying them. As I prepare to sheathe my blade, something beyond the skull of the dragon piques my interest. Movements among the snow, silhouettes from the grave are walking towards a certain direction, almost as if some shepherd is herding them. It is told that when indulging in the whisper of becoming ethereal, one would be in the realm of both the living and the dead. This is where the apparitions of the past wander and perhaps this is also where communication would be more eloquent between the living and the dead. Though admittedly, I'm not one to converse with the dead since I have placed many in the said predicament. Though the blue shadows moving like draugs towards something does take kindly to my curiosity.

Intrigued, I take a few steps to follow them and it doesn't take long until I am shown the exact reason why they are gathering. An enchanting image… a clearer silhouette of a woman who seems to be manipulating snow with mere gestures of her hands to whatever shape and form she would want. With her left arm she creates a trail of snow to fly up… her right arm creating yet another… then with both hands, she creates the symbol of Skyrim in the sky! I stand there mystified and confused. I wasn't sure if I should stare at the symbol of my land or at the woman… though that decision is made for me when the construct of the said symbol turns red and shatters. It's in that moment I give my undivided attention towards the apparition responsible for the 'show'. The crowd that was following her are now blurred images that is red like how the Skyrim symbol was… if I look closely I could almost make out…

'Fear.'

Anyone else would have flinched at the haunting tone the word carried as it pervaded from this silhouette. It is at that moment I realized that I have wasted enough of my time indulging in the archaic hauntings of Skyrim. Sheathing Muramasa, my ethereal form fades away and once again I am in the cold and harsh weather of Skyrim. Beyond the skull of the dead frost dragon lies no apparitions… no confusion... Makes me ponder why it is I would see that. Perhaps it is a testament that I should not delve into that whisper if I can help it. Shrugging my shoulder, I summon Arvak and jump into his back and take speed to wherever I should go. If that little ordeal was to mean something, I have chosen not to mind it. The definitive of the end of Skyrim has gotten very little 'awe' factors from me. This land and all its tribulation is no longer of my concern…

Only one thing really is of my concern…

Legendary hero of Skyrim? Hardly. The ultimate dragon slayer is a correct term.

I am Dragonborn after all. The wind is my plaything and the sky is my playground. If I am to be hated because I choose to treat my 'fate' as a game, then I suppose they should curse the gods for giving me the soul of the dragon.

To Be Continued….