Disclaimer; I don't own Skyrim or the Elder Scrolls, and I am making no profit from these works. These stories were inspired by Morninglight's Ysraneth's Tales series.

Chapter 1:

/Scene Break/

Born during the Great War, 30 years before Alduin's return to Skyrim, Jeand was a part of a family of Reachmen farmers and miners. They had lived in Karthwasten, originally, with Jeand's father, unable to work due to a mishap some years earlier, and his elder brother living in Markarth's Warrens most days, tending to the family's stall within the Dwemer built city. Like most Reachmen, Jeand's family prayed to both Azura and Hircine, along with their clan specific deities. It was a simple life.

It was when Jeand was three that the complexities of the world revealed themselves to him. Before then he had known that Nords were the ones in charge; it was the Nords who hired on Bretons as servants, and who used Reachmen as slaves. The young Jeand never really thought anything of it, he had never known any different. But when the Markarth Uprising occurred, and the King in Rags sat upon Mournful Throne, Jeand saw the effects of the change. Now the natives of the Reach, no matter which race they belonged to, were treated equally, able to buy any property they wished, work where they wanted, etc. Though, admittedly, due to the short-lived independent Reach Kingdom, many had stuck with the jobs they'd had before the Uprising, just with better pay. For Jeand the biggest difference was that his father and brother were able to get a proper place within the city, and Jeand was able to stay with them certain months.

Then, the Great War ended.

Whilst the War itself held no immediate impact upon Madanach's kingdom, it had provided the perfect opportunity for the rebellion to occur. Still, many had assumed that, and would have preferred if, the Empire would win. When they had succeeded to the Dominion's demands, all of Tamriel felt it. For the Reach Kingdom, it was when Ulfic Stormcloak retook Markarth for Igmund, son of the previous Jarl, and the one to hold the position when the Reach was once again a Hold of Skyrim. It was on that day, when Jeand was five years of age, staying with his father and brother, did he understand the cruelties of the world. All was peaceful within the city; Jeand was playing with some of the local children, whilst the other resident members of his family were tending the stall, selling food from the farm. Then the world erupted in sound. A thundering boom echoed off the stone work, demolishing the first set of buildings in its path, it had felt to the young Breton/Nord that the entire world had been consumed by the sound. People ran and cowered; none of them knew what was happening. As such, they were too panicked to notice the men and women with steel in their hands cutting a bloody swath through the people until it was too late.

At the head of this army was a man, one whose face Jeand would never forget; hard features, auburn hair, serious brow, and a strong jaw with the beginnings of a beard. Later Jeand would learn the man's name and his capabilities from the very ones who'd taught him. The one who's cloaked in the storms that crown Dragons from the North. Ulfric Stormcloak. The men and women by his side went through Markarth slaughtering indiscriminately; farmer, soldier, miner, civilians, old, young, men, women, any that were old enough to fight in a war that didn't side with Ulfric were butchered. Many fled, some into the hills of the Reach, others into the neighbouring Holds, the rest were captured, and over time, executed. Jeand's brother and father were both casualties, his brother during the reclamation of Markarth, and his farther sometime after it'd been taken back. Jeand, like so many others orphaned during Ulfric's attack, was sent to live with a Breton family loyal to the Empire located in High Rock.

/Scene Break/

For fifteen years Jeand lived as a proper, albeit middle class, Breton, ignoring the Nord part of him that made the boy a child of the Reach, yet at the same, growing a deep dislike for the Nords as a whole, and Ulfric himself, for his deeds in Markarth. Jeand learnt the various trades of the area, focusing more on orating and song weaving than spell chanting or cooking, yet neither did he ignore those arts. Of the magic disciplines, Jeand had a talent for both Illusion and Conjuration, where as his skills with words and instruments lead his adopted family to suggest becoming a Bard, one that the young Reachman took to heart. So it was, that after coming of age, Jeand left to study the Bardic trade.

Travelling across Tamriel (or the mainland at least) Jeand learned of the various Bard trades; poetry, music, satire, eulogy, performance art, and history. Most of his time was spent poring over various books on the subjects. One that stuck out more than the others was the details of the Oblivion crisis nearly 200 years previous; whilst all scholars agreed that it was caused by the Mythic Dawn's assassination of the Septim line, none could understand exactly HOW it'd been stopped, nor how the aspect of Akatosh had been summoned. One such writer, a retired Blade Grandmaster of Redguard descent that'd been a member of the Emperor's honour guard, insisted that it was due to both an unknown prisoner and an illegitimate child of the then recently murdered Emperor Uriel Septim. Many, however, found this account far-fetched at best, mostly because the ex-Blade could never remember the names of those he'd stated were responsible.

Still Jeand had lived a relatively ordinary life. There were few instances of interest during those years he spent travelling. One was his brief time as a student in the College of Whispers, mostly as a means of learning new illusion spells to help make his performances livelier. Whilst there, he also met with a Khajit apprentice by the name of J'Zargo, and the two formed an unlikely friendship with eachother. There was also the few instances when he was thrown into one jail cell or another for various reasons. Then there was also the time that Jeand stumbled upon the lost priory of the Knights of the Nine, where he heard stories of the Last Crusader of the Knights, and how they, and the Relics of the Divines, had mysteriously vanished a few months after the final defeat of Umaril the Unfathomed. The only mementos of the Crusader were the large Aylied sword that decorated the undercroft of the priory, and their armor and weapons; the ones used whilst they had been out questing for the Relics.

Yet it was when he had found himself face-to-face with other Reachmen that prompted his journey back to his homeland of Skyrim.

/Scene Break/

"Thank you for allowing me into your home." Jeand expressed as he sat amongst a family of Reachmen that'd escaped the slaughter of Markarth.

"Oh it is no trouble at all. You are a son of the Reach, you are most welcome here if you ever have need of it." the patriarch of the family, a large, heavy-set older man by the name of Paurelc, boasted.

Jeand had been passing through the area near Kvatch, seeing the remains of what was once an Oblivion Gate, when he'd heard a cry for help from a small child. Rushing over he saw a young girl being attacked by a small pack of wolves. Seeing no one else that could help, the young Reachman leapt in to aid the child. Conjuring forth his familiar, as well as drawing attention away from the girl with his antics, Jeand engaged the canine adversaries in a contest of claws, fangs, spells, and tricks. He had been faring quite well, but sadly, not good enough, mostly because he carried only a rusted Iron Dagger, which was snapped in twain when he'd been defending himself from the apparent Alpha's teeth. It was only when the girl's father arrived, mace in hand that the two were able to beat back the wolves, and retreat to the Lochtav Farm.

Upon entering, Jeand noticed the small shrine above the hearth and asked, "Does the Bloodmoon bless your home as well?"

"Ah, a fellow hunter of Hircine I see… Forgive me, but you don't look the part…" Paurelc stated to Jeand, both sizing up the other.

It wasn't until Jeand confessed that he was a "born worshiper of Hircine, among others, such as Dibela, and Azura…" did Paurelc's features became friendly towards the unofficial bard.

"Azura, Hircine, and of Breton heritage, as well. Why didn't you say you were kin from the Reach?" Paurelc laughed

/Scene Break/

After hours of conversing, even joining in on the hunt in the late afternoon sun, Jeand was invited to stay the night, to which he accepted. Thanking the man as he sat, Jeand was privy to the Lochtav family ritual of giving thanks before a meal

"We thank the noble beast, whose life was shed for the meat before us, so that our lives may continue…" at this Paurelc indicated to the deer carcass on the table, the spoils of the hunt. "We thank Hircine, Lord of the Wild Hunt, for the opportunity given to us in felling our prey…" Paurelc then bowed slightly to the shrine above the hearth. "We Thank Lady Azura, Lady of the Dawn and the Dusk, for sending forth our kinsman of the Reach Jeand, in a most dire time for our most precious of treasures." Paurelc then indicated to both Jeand, and the young girl he'd had a hand in saving earlier that day. Jeand didn't know how to respond to that, but gave a small bow to Azura just the same. "And finally, we give thanks to Madanach, the King in Rags, and pray for his eventual return to the Mournful Throne." Paurelc concluded and he and his family started to eat the Venison before them. That is until they noticed that Jeand had yet to take a portion for himself.

"Jeand, aren't you hungry?" the eldest daughter, Delphine, named in honour of the woman who had helped Paurelc and his wife escape from the Stormcloaks as they fled Skyrim years ago, posed to her sister's almost saviour.

"No, it's not that…" Jeand replied with a sad smile over the memories of that time nearly two and a half decades prior.

"Then what is it son?" Paurelc asked his downcast guest.

"It's just, I was in Markarth when it fell… I lost my brother and father in the attack that killed Madanach…" Jeand admitted, only to realise what he'd exactly said, and suddenly looked up from his empty plate to see, instead of horror and sorrow over the Lochtav family having lost their king, everyone had a look of bemusement over Jeand's statement.

"Ah, then you must not have heard then?" Paurelc enquired after seeing the confusion spread across Jeand's face.

"Heard what?"

Paurelc's, indeed all of the Lochtav family's, feature grew sinister then, as the patriarch answered with "Not everyone was killed that day. Some, like my family and yourself, managed to make it out of Skyrim, in one fashion or another. Others fled into the hills, and took up the ancient name of Foresworn…"

"Those whose faith are forsaken, even within their own homes…" Jeand said, showing that he knew the term well. He himself had been foresworn after he was adopted, and he knew of a few of the other orphans from the Reach whom had been the same. But he never knew that a majority of his people had claimed the name for themselves, though in hindsight, with what sparse news he'd heard out of the Reach in recent years, he wasn't surprised.

Paurelc nodded before continuing. "They attack any and all that they consider to be an outsider of the Reach, and have been waging war with Markarth since that day. However, what few know is that many more of our kin were taken prisoner by the Silver-bloods, and are being kept within Cidna Mine. For what reason, only those poisonous Silver-bloods know that, but what we do know is that the most prominent prisoner is non-other than the King in Rags himself."

For the rest of the night, those words echoed within Jeand's head…

/Scene Break/

The following morning, Jeand bid his farewell to the Lochtav family, along with thanks for the bed and meal, and made a start for the border between Cyrodill and Skyrim. Normally the journey wouldn't take that long, either by cart or by foot, however recent developments, not only with the Thalmer's meddling in the affairs of those not apart of the Aldmeri Dominion, especially travellers, making the journey an unnecessary hassle, but in recent months, the word from Skyrim was that a Civil War had erupted between Nords that didn't wish to follow the White Gold Concordant, and those still loyal to the Empire and the Imperial Legion. As such, the usual routes to and from Skyrim were closed, barring special circumstances, until one side emerged victorious.

All of this meant that Jeand's return to Skyrim was delayed by a couple of years as the Reachman searched for alternate ways to penetrate the barriers, both the naturally formed and constructed, keeping Jeand from the land of his birth. Mind you the method of entry wasn't all that difficult to uncover; criminals, especially smugglers, tended to thrive during wartime, for various reasons. No, Jeand's main problem was gold, specifically the amount of Septims required to actually get across was downright theft. As such, in order to pay for the trip, Jeand had to sell almost all of his possessions, save for some sack clothing for both modesty and protection from the elements, even then, all Jeand could purchase was entry that was dangerously close to an Imperial guarded crossing.

/Scene Break/

Once across, it was simple for Jeand to avoid getting caught… at least at first… It was when he was getting his bearings that Jeand ran afoul of an Imperial Legion prisoner transport. At first, there was silence, an uncomfortable, awkward silence. Then, when a Legion soldier stationed at the crossing Jeand had just snuck past arrived to inform the transport of another prisoner, specifically a smuggler, all attention was then focused on Jeand, the state of his attire, and where exactly it was he had come from, along with the information about the crossing's latest prisoner, it wasn't hard to figure out what the Reachman had done.

"Oh for the love of Azu..." was all Jeand managed to say, before a swift blow to the head sent him to the realm of unconsciousness...