Chapter 2

Into the fire

And into the fire.

"No we're not rebels!" sobs the thief.

"Face your death with some courage thief," spits the armoured man.

"You've got to tell them, we weren't with you, this is a mistake."

"Step forward when we call your name, one at a time!" yells the hot captain (not now Skordir!)

"Hmph, Empire loves their damned lists," the armoured man sneers.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, jarl of windhelm," says an auburn imperial, and it might be just me but he is looking at the armoured man with a hint of sadness on his face. I look over at the armoured man to see if there was any reaction but just then, his name is called out.

"Ralof of Riverwood" whispers the imperial man and before Ralof turns away I think I spot tears in his eyes.

"Lokir of Rorikstead," says the red haired imperial.

"No wait, I'm not a rebel, you can't do this!" he half-sobs

The fool is running like his feet are on fire, if this were a different setting, I would be impressed.

"You're not gonna kill me!" he pants.

"ARCHERS!" bellows the attractive captain who right now with her wild eyes, furious glare and massive sword seems just about as attractive as a frostbite spider.

Lokir almost makes it but then, a razor sharp steel arrow slices through his back. The look on his face before he dies almost comical, he died with a smile on his face thinking that he had made it. What an inspiration to the children on how to be a spineless milk drinker running for the hills with his tail between his legs.

"Anyone else feel like running?" asks the not-so attractive captain with her sword inches from my throat.

"Wait, you there, step forward," asks the kind imperial man, "who are you?"

"My name is Skordir ice-heart and if I am to die today then I am going to say some last words."

"Like most Nords I'm not a talker, I admit that I am scared right now but my fear is being overcome by my heart. Apparently I killed three of your men, dressed in rags with no weapon and I would do it again, because now I die with the intention of entering Sovngarde drinking, fighting and cursing your names for the rest of eternity."

"And if I ever meet Talos, I will tell him of how sons and daughters of Skyrim have sold him out to their elven overlords. So I may die but it is you who are eternally damned."

At the end of my speech the rest of the captured prisoners howl like wolves, cheering me and chanting "Ice-Heart, Ice-Heart, Ice-Heart."

The captain's eyes were popping with rage and even the great Ulfric Stormcloak smiles at me warmly though it's hard to see under his gag.

"You picked a bad time to come home kinsman," says the imperial

"Follow the captain prisoner," says the kindly imperial with pity in his eyes.

I follow her and General Tullius started laying the blame on Ulfric.

"Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his King and usurp his throne. You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

A noise like a roar but far off, but where had I heard that noise before?

"What was that?" gasps a soldier.

"It's nothing," says General Tullius, I may not like him too much right now but he is ever the professional, I'll give him that.

"Yes General Tullius," says the captain, "give them their last rights."

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the eight divines upon you- "a priest of the divines starts to speak but doesn't get far.

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!" exclaims a blood-haired stormcloak.

"As you wish!" snaps the flustered priest.

"Come on, I haven't got all morning!" he roars. "My ancestors are smiling at me today imperials, can you say the same?"

I don't want to look but I do, when the axe comes down on his neck the block turns redder than the man's hair was.

"You imperial bastards!" shrieks a stormcloak maiden.

"Justice!" shouts Vilod.

"Death to the Stormcloaks!" sneers his wife, Ingrid.

"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof mutters tears flowing openly now.

"Next, the Nord in the rags!" the captain bellows.

"My name is Skordir," I snap at her, "but you don't care, just get on with it."