Chapter 2 is here! 2/3 of the way through we get the main characters name changed, make sure you see it or you might get confused.

Skjon slowed his horse as he approached the closed gate of the border. A lone member of the Imperial Legion stood beside the gate, and another patrolled the deck above the gate. By the light of their torches, Skjon could just barely make out the leather armor and steel swords the legionnaires had by the light of their torches.

As Skjon drew near to the gate, the legionnaire on the ground stepped out and stood in front of the gate. Skjon slowed his horse as he approached the gate, hoping he could make this interaction as quick as possible.

"Halt, citizen." The legionnaire shouted to Skjon. "Pale Pass is closed due to avalanches. Turn around."

Shit. Skjon thought. He couldn't turn around, and he had no idea how soon the Thalmor would be there. He was cornered, and Skyrim was his only hope. He might become a criminal to the Empire sooner than he thought.

"I have to go through now!" Skjon shouted back to the legionnaire.

"No you don't. Watch your tongue and turn around. You can stay in Bruma until the pass is open."

"It's a matter of urgency! I must go to Skyrim!"

"I'm sure it is. It always is. Now turn around and wait like everyone else."

"I will not leave unless I can go through the pass! Now open the gate!"

"How about you get off the horse and show me your papers, friend."

Skjon looked past the legionnaire and saw a small door built into the gate. He had no papers, and couldn't go back. He would have to make a run for it.

He dismounted his horse, and the legionnaire held out his hand expectantly. Skjon eyed the area around the door and reached into his pockets, as if to get out his papers.

"What in Kynes name is that?" Skjon said, darting his eyes and turning his body towards the brush on the side of the road. The legionnaire, as Skjon had hoped, turned to look. Skjon made a break for it.

He sprinted past the legionnaire and bumped him in the side with his shoulder, nearly knocking him down. The legionnaire let out a yell, and tumbled backwards. The legionnaire on the deck shouted down to Skjon to stop, but Skjon was not going to stop.

He ran up to the door and threw it open, and sprinted off into the pass. He was startled as an arrow whizzed past his head and into the snow ahead. Skjon began running in a zigzag pattern, hoping any arrows fired would not hit him.

No other arrows were fired as Skjon ran into the pass. He could hardly see anything in front of him save the sides of the mountains. The snow became deeper as he slowed from a run to a walk. It got colder and colder, the temperature was well below freezing and Skjon knew even a hardy Nord like himself couldn't survive long.

The snow Skjon had been able to keep footing on suddenly dropped away beneath his feet as he sank thigh deep into the snow. The snow flowed into his shoes and rubbed his ankles as Skjon fought to push on through what he assumed was the site of the avalanche.

Skjon felt his toes start to numb, and knew his time was limited. He knew he had to be close to Skyrim, and did not care who or what was waiting for him on the other side.

Finally, Skjon saw a glimpse of hope; what looked to be a gate on the other side of the pass. The snow had started to shallow, and he was able to walk towards the gate with minimal resistance. The only thing keeping him from walking any faster was the fact that he couldn't feel his toes.

He could clearly see the gate now, and saw the light of a torch upon the deck of the gate. "Who goes there?" A voice shouted from atop the deck. Skjon tried to move his lips, but no sound came out. His vision started to blur white, and then darkened to black. His legs gave out, and he collapsed into the snow. The last thing he heard was the sound of a door opening.


Skjon was awoken by a jolt. He was sitting down, and the air was warmer. He was moving on a bumpy road, in a cart. His arms ached, but when he went to stretch them, they wouldn't move. His eyes jumped open at this, and he saw that his hands were bound.

"Hey you, you're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right?" A voice spoke. Skjon looked up to see a fellow Nord looking at him. He too was bound at the hands, and wore rags.

"Yeah." Skjon answered. "Yeah, I was. What the hell happened? Where am I?"

"I don't know, I just heard them say you were crossing the border without papers. As for where you are, look around. You are home, kinsman. This is Skyrim."

Skjon looked up, and saw a clear blue sky behind a forest of pine trees. In front of him, he saw a fellow Nord with blond hair, big muscles, and a slight smile on his face. Beside that Nord, a different Nord that was skinny with brown hair stared at his feet. Beside Skjon, another Nord sat, but this Nord was unlike the others. He wore fine fur clothing, and had his mouth gagged. The man looked slightly familiar with with his hair and attire, but Skjon couldn't place him.

"Damn you Stormcloaks." The brown haired Nord spoke. "Skyrim was fine before you came along. The Empire was nice and lazy. If they weren't hunting you bastards, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

These are the Stormcloaks? Skjon thought as the horse thief complained. So, he had indeed made it to Skyrim, and the Stormcloaks, only to be captured and thrown in alongside them!

"Watch your tongue!" The blond Nord snapped. "You speak in the presence of Ulfric, the True High King!"

"I know, and he is a bastard. You hear me, bastard!"

"Shut up back there!" The drive yelled from the front.

So Skjon was sitting in the back of another prisoner cart, only this time with the leader of a rebellion he maybe hoped to seek refuge with. He doubted he would be able to get his way out of this one.

The cart began downhill, and took a turn towards a gate not too different from the one Skjon had ran through to get to Skyrim. Skjon was able to see that in front of his cart there was another cart also full of prisoners, and that they were surrounded by a sizeable force of Imperial Legionnaires. At the head of the group, a white haired man in the unmistakable armor of an Imperial General hailed to the gate, which opened into a small town.

"Where are we going?" Skjon asked the blond Nord, who looked up and him a frowned.

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

"This can't be happening, this isn't happening!" The horse thief started shouting.

"I said shut up! Quiet, you damn dogs!" The driver yelled again.

As Skjon looked up and his heart skipped a beat- a robed member of the Thalmor and two soldiers were talking to the Imperial General. Skjon quickly looked back down, and began praying. The Thalmor were surely going to take him to a fate worse than death.

The cart made its way through the town, past several houses, shops, and an inn. Outside the buildings, all manner of people stood, watching. Imperials, Nords, farmers, merchants. There was no doubt in Skjon's mind that the Stormcloaks were being sent to the Gods.

The cart slowed to a stop, and a female officers barked orders to unload the prisoners. As the other prisons got up, the blond Nord leaned forward and spoke to Skjon. "Let's go, kinsman. shouldn't keep the Gods waiting for us."

With those words, the man stood up and walked to the back of the cart, and jumped down. Skjon followed him, and stood at the back of the cart, where he saw the female officer and another legionnaire with a quill and paper standing in front of them.

Behind them, the robed Thalmor sat upon her horse, staring at the prisoners. Her eyes darted from prisoner to prisoner, examining each one.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." the legionnaire said, crossing the name off of his list. The Jarl looked the legionnaire in the eyes before he stepped over to a stone platform to the left.

"Ralof of Riverwood." the legionnaire said next, and the blond Nord followed Ulfric to the platform, his eyes not leaving the ground.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"Wait! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" the horse thief yelled, holding back tears. The female officer put her hand on the hilt of her sword and was about to say something when the man made a run for it.

"Halt!" She shouted after him, drawing her sword. He darted past her, and then past the Thalmor and sprinted towards the gates. "Archers!"

From atop one of the large towers surrounding the courtyard, a dozen arrows rained down onto the unfortunate thief, each one hitting its mark. Lokir of Rorikstead dropped like a tree onto the ground, and did not get up. "Anyone else feel like running?" The female officer shouted, before turning her attention to the last man in line: Skjon.

"You there, step forward." The legionnaire said. "You were found with no papers trying to run through Pale Pass. Who are you?"

Skjon looked not just at him, but the Thalmor behind him, who was staring directly at Skjon, almost like she was studying him. Maybe she knew he was running from the Thalmor back in Cyrodiil. If she did, she would drag him away to a fate much worse than death.

Skjon thought of a name he could give. Any name would do, but one stuck about above the rest: Frolfjorn, his father's name.

"Frolfjorn." He answered the legionnaire, who scribbled it down onto his list.

"Last name?" He asked.

"Nay. Don't have one"

"Where are you from?"

"Bruma, in Cyrodiil."

The legionnaire wrote this down, and then looked to the female officer.

"Captain, what should we do? He's not a rebel, and wasn't on the list."

"Forget the list." She answered. "He's a criminal. He goes to the block."

"By your orders, Captain. Follow the Captain, prisoner."

The female Captain turned and walked towards the stone platform, and Frolfjorn followed her. Once he was with the other prisoners, he stopped, and she continued to the headsman's block, where an executioner in black and a priestess waited.

Frolfjorn turned to see the General addressing Ulfric. They stood close to each other, the General staring hatefully right into the rebel commander.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use the power of the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

Ulfric tried to speak through his gag, but only a few muffled grunts got through.

"You started this war!" The General yelled. "Plunged Skyrim into chaos! And now the Empire will put you down, and restore the peace!"

From up in the mountains, an odd noise sounded. It was like a roar, but not of a creature Frolfjorn had ever heard before. It echoed through the town, and everyone stared up to the mountain, which had a black storm forming at its peak. The peak was not even visible, it had to be the biggest mountain Frolfjorn had ever seen.

"What was that? The legionnaire who had been taking names said, still looking up into the sky.

"It was nothing." Answered the General. "Carry on."

The priestess stepped forward, and began giving the group death rites. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you…"

"What in Oblivion is that!" General Tullius shouted, looking up. Everyone, including the priestess, suddenly looked upwards to see a giant black blur fly through the sky.

"Dragon!" Someone shouted. The blur slowed down, and, it was, indeed, a dragon! Or at least Frolfjorn thought it sure as hell looked like one. It flew down and landed on the tower above them, perched on the ledge. It let out a giant roar, and spoke in a language that sounded unfamiliar to Frolfjorn. Yet, for some reason, Frolfjorn knew what the dragon said. Strun Nah Golz, "Storm Fury Stone."

Suddenly, a reddish cloud formed above the town, and rocks screamed down from the heavens. One hit the ground in front of Frolfjorn, throwing him down onto the platform. He landed on his back, where he saw another rock hurtling down towards him. He rolled to his left, and was able to stand on all fours.

"Kinsman, get up!" A familiar voice yelled. "Come on, the Gods won't give us another chance!"

Frolfjorn looked up and saw Ralof, the blond Nord, staring at him. He scrambled up, and as Ralof ran into a nearby tower, Frolfjorn followed. They both ran inside to tower, and once inside slammed the door behind them. Inside was all the Stormcloak prisoners.

"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?" Ralof asked Ulfric, who was now ungagged and unbound.

"Legends don't burn down villages."

"Come on, let's get your binds off." Ralof said, leading Frolfjorn over to one of the Stormcloaks who had managed to find a knife. With his binds cut, Folfjorn stretched his arms.

"We need to move, now!" Ulfric said, walking towards a staircase that went up to the upper floors of the tower.

"C'mon, up through the tower, let's move!" Ralof said, and began walking up the steps of the tower. Ulfric and another Stormcloak followed in suite. When they reached the top, another Stormcloak was trying to move some rocks and rubble that blocked the stairs from going up.

"If we could just move some of this rubble…" The Stormcloak was interrupted by the tower wall itself blowing inwards, letting the head of the dragon peer into the tower.

The dragon looked at Frolfjorn and the others for a moment and then opened its maw. Everyone took off down the stairs of the towers and a dead sprint as the dragon spewed flames down the stairs. Frolfjorn could also understand this, the dragon had said Yor Toor Shul, "Fire Inferno Sun."

The dragon then flew away just as abruptly as it had appeared, flying off from the tower to elsewhere in the city. Ralof was first to cautiously go up the stairs and Frolfjorn followed. They both looked down at the chaos below. Everywhere in the town, buildings burned and people were dying, as the dragon shrugged off arrow after arrow that was fired at it.

"See the inn on the other side?" Ralof said to Frolfjorn, pointing down. There was an inn below them, albeit there was a massive hole in the roof where a rock had crashed through. "Jump down and keep going. We'll follow when we can!"

Frolfjorn looked at Ralof, who was already making his way back down the stairs. Man must damn well be crazy! Frolfjorn thought, looking back down at the inn. It was a long way down, but it might have been the only way down. Taking a breath, Frolfjorn jumped.

It was a long jump, and Frolfjorn had unfortunately landed forward instead of back. He tumbled forward, and slammed his head straight into the stone fireplace in the end. Knocked out twice now in his short time in Skyrim, Frolfjorn faded from consciousness as the town around him was razed to the ground by a legend.