Authors Notes:
Just for interest sake and just because it bound to be fun, whenever you see "X-X-X", it means that the story has shifted to 'third person' and again when it switches back to 'first person'.
I Don't Own Skyrim.
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Chapter 1- Unleashed
I've never really had that much faith or trust in the Empire or anyone for that fact; comes from past personal experience; as I've been let down before. Some may say I'm just being negative, but if you're always expecting the worst, it won't be such a surprise when the worst happens and you're pleasantly surprised when something good happens.
This was not one of those times though.
"Forget the list. He goes to the block." Just enough to know I'm screwed.
I stood in complete silence, while they just carried on bickering. Couldn't a man have some silence before he's relieved of his head? Considering I spent nearly the last 2 decades by myself with no one for company except for the books that kept me busy in my solitude, I would have to get used to it if I had any time to left.
I contemplated my life thus far and truthfully, it isn't worthy of song.
X-X-X
"Next, the dark elf!" Shouted the Captain impatiently as she pointed toward the silent elf who looked as though he nothing was going on.
Suddenly there was a shrieking noise, sounded like something out of Oblivion.
"There it is again, did you hear that?" Asked the Imperial soldier as everyone began to feel uneasy.
"I said next prisoner!" Shouted the Captain as if she had something to prove or just wanted to hold someone under her boot as the axe came down.
"Over to the block prisoner, nice and easy." The worrisome said soldier; to the silent Dunmer not looking to anger the Captain any further.
So, not wanting to drag this out any longer; the tall Dunmer strode over to the block. Kneeling and placing his own head on the block before the Captain could even raise her filthy boot off the ground. He didn't seem to have any last words but sure left an impression by showing he was dying on his own terms and not beneath another's boot.
The headsman took up his axe, leaning back for maximum swing and a clean cut.
But before he even began to swing, a massive black shape appeared from the clouds and descended upon the tower before the towns square.
Shaking the very foundations and staggering everyone still left standing with shear force and pure fear for the great shadow that stared them down like lost sheep.
"Dragon!" Was the only thing heard before the black scaled beast let off, what can only be described as a roar of pure power.
The clear sky became dark and stormy. As if from Oblivion itself, it began to literally rain fire and rock. As if Red Mountain had erupted from the sky at the dragons command.
The black beast, 'roared' again and this time it sent the Dunmer before him; still on the block, flying back into the carriage that carried him there.
Everyone watched in horror as a man was sent flying; smashing the carriage into pieces and getting buried beneath it.
The dragon took to the sky once more. As everyone began to run, a form burst from the rubble he was buried beneath.
Moro looked down to find his armor lying at his feet. It had fallen out the carriage satchel when he crashed into it and broken his bounds with the burst of adrenaline from the excitement. Moro grabbed his armor and threw them back into the satchel before throw it over his shoulder.
"Hey dark elf, come on the gods won't give us another!" Called the Nord Stormcloak; from the tower, waving to Moro toward him.
Moro simply turned half-way toward him before speaking with less interest then a wolf had for eating an Imp Stool mushroom.
"To Oblivion with you." With that, Moro turned his back toward the tower; now facing the burning house.
"I CALL UPON THE POWER OF THE ANCIENTS, UNLEASH THE WRATH OF MY ANCESTORS!" An almost possessed voice, that was almost not Moro's own sounded throughout the city.
Moro ran toward the burning house, as if it were not on fire. He ran through the inflamed house without even flinching and when he emerged; kicking through the crumbling wooden wall, he was encased in fire. Not as if on fire, as if he was the fire and it reflected in his red eyes.
"Hamming run!" The dying plea of a dying Nord to his son were uttered, the boy ran for cover; just in time before the dragon descended once more.
Moro stood in the line of fire, literately. The dragon took a breath and then again; 'roared', but this time fire came from its gullet, just like the stories parents tell their children.
The man curled up before the dragon was quickly silenced by the sound of the dragon breathing fire. The intense flames blew past the charred remains of the Nord, then engulfed Moro in a flame like coffin. The dragon took off yet again, leaving only fire in its wake.
The Imperial Nord soldier from earlier stood in awe as the flames seemed to claim two lives in one fell swoop, but his awe soon turned into disbelief and confusion as he watched the tall Dunmer walk out the flames; with fire dancing around him like he was a part of it.
"Still alive prisoner?" The shaky voice of the soldier asked not believing his own eyes.
Moro paid him no mind, before taking off yet again down the path before him. He seemed to not notice all the death and destruction around him. He had an objective and he wasn't slowing down.
Fire rained from and to the sky as the dragons hell fire drew on and the Imperial Battle Mages tried in vain as they tried to pelt the creature's thick black hide with fire balls; let alone hit the beast.
Moro reached the door to the keep; that lead underground, as was the layout of most keeps that were built with an emergency escape route out of the city in the case it was invaded by an overwhelming force. Moro slowed to open the door of the keep, just as he pulled the door; one of the fire balls landed a few feet behind him with an explosion. Moro didn't even flinch as he walked into the keep and kicked the door closed before the fire could follow him inside and burn down his only chance of escape.
Inside the keep
Moro leaned back against the door as he just narrowly escaped certain death by the headsman's axe. Gasping at his luck then just lightly chuckling.
Moro felt the power of Ancestors Wrath begin to fade from him. He then quickly placed his hands to the lock of the door and focused what power of his ancestors he had left into the metal and felt the lock melt to the wood and stone; sealing the way.
"Don't need any more trouble coming that way." Moro said to himself as he found himself in the barracks of the keep.
Nodding to no one but himself; as the ideal location to stop for a moment before carrying on, Moro opened the satchel with his gear open to suit up.
He pulled the rags they' put him in off, then pulling on his lose black leather trousers and throwing on his black coat like armor; that was layered in a wing like lapels over the shoulders. He then put his boots on and fastened the buckles, closed the coat with a sash like belt around his torso and tightened the belt. Tightened the corset like leather arm-wrists and pulled the cuff of his sleeve to his wrists, slipped his gauntlets with sharp metal claws at the tips on. Moro then strapped a pouch to his upper thigh and gave it a few taps as it was the most valuable thing on his person. Finally pulled his hood up; to cast a shadow over his features and bringing the glow of his eyes out.
The tasset-like tail of his coat fluttered in the breeze that came from further in the keep, meaning there was another way out.
"I'll need to get a new sword since those fools stole mine." Moro said to himself; before looking to his right; to find a weapon rack displaying iron swords.
"Hmmm, this will have to do for now." Moro breathed with no small amount of annoyance as he grabbed the handles of two iron sword and then throwing them to the ground.
His hands lit up with fire and then Moro pointed his hands toward the iron swords and bathed them in intense flames. In close to no time; the metal began to melt into glowing molten metal bits. Moro grabbed pieces of charcoal and added it to the mix.
Casting a flame cloak; before picking up the smoldering metal in his hands, using his own strength to fold the metal again and again before molding it to resemble a blade. Using the claws of his gauntlets to carve edges and flatten the metal in some area where necessary. The metal soon began to harden as it cooled, Moro set it down; not wanting to damage his sword and stepping back and then hailing the still hot metal with an icy frost spell.
Steam spewed everywhere when ice met hot metal but it soon dissipated and a large sword with a few rough edges was revealed.
Moro picked up the blade and charged it with a surge of lightning, and bits began falling off to reveal a shining greatsword; that was sharpened by lightning to a fine edge.
Satisfied with his improvised handy work, Moro used leather from one of the armors to make the grip and sheath. Fastening the now steel greatsword to his back, Moro looked down the doorway before him.
Moro inhaled deeply, suddenly his senses were overcome by many scents, but as soon as he smelt the one he was looking for; fresh snow and pine, Moro chuckled and then smiled a cruel grin.
He then proceeded further into the keep; following his nose.
Further in the keep
"What are we going to do? Just wait until the dragon rips the whole keep apart and bring this place down on us?" A brutish Stormcloak questioned as the rest of his companions just wandered in circles trying to think what to do, clearly not having much luck.
"We don't even know if Jarl Ulfric made it out, what are we doing here?" Questioned another, one of them was making his rounds when he saw something in the hallway; he left to investigate, leaving his companions to bicker amongst themselves.
"For now, we wait; until things calm down up there." Said the only soldier who seemed to be the brains of these fools.
Before another word could be uttered, the soldier who was doing his rounds was flying through the air; screaming. Then he slammed into the rocks with sickening sound; echoing through the halls as they looked at their fallen comrade. They turned in time to see a man wearing black Vampire Armor, standing before them.
Moro drew his new sword and held it firmly with both hands, ready to give a swing and have it taste their blood.
They made the first move.
The largest Stormcloak with a massive warhammer came swinging towards Moro.
Moro readied his stance, in blocking position; the Nord swung his hammer, only for it to meet the blade then before it lost momentum; Moro dropped the stance allowing the Nord to pass right past him. Moro came back up behind the Nord, only to swing his sword backward and take his opponents head; clean off.
"First mistake…"
The two remaining Stormcloaks look at the head of their friend; cut down in an instant and with so little effort. They choose to honor his memory by joining him in Sovngarde.
They charged together, the first one swung his sword at Moro, this time though; he took the full brunt while blocking and before the second one could even swing his axe, Moro bashed the man with the hilt of his sword. Then as the charging man came at Moro, he quickly turned his sword end toward his opponent. The Nord practically ran into his own death, Moro pulled his sword from the dead Nord's body and turned to the last Stormcloak between him and freedom.
Seeing all his friends die before him, the last remaining Nord turned to run; not realizing the direction he ran toward the bridge; was an oil trap. Unfortunately for him, Moro noticed immediately, with one arm; perched his sword on his shoulder and with the other sent a fire ball toward the end of the oil trap.
The ball of flames hit the oil just in front of the cowering Nord, igniting the oil and burning him alive. His cries carried on for at least a minute, but when it was done; Moro sheathed his sword and carried on.
Moro narrowly crossed the bridge, just before a massive boulder came falling; crushing the bridge.
Moro looked back, to gaze upon the remnants of the bridge and carried on.
He had no time to waste.
Turning left, down a stream that lead to a dead end, turning right at the lantern, leading him further down into the cave. Moro finally stopped, when he came face to face with a nest; of frost arachnids.
"Uhhh…" Moro sighed as the massive spiders took notice of him and got their venom glands ready for dinner.
Moro leapt forward into a roll, dodging the flying poison that was aimed at him, he gazed up and drew his sword; ready to carve them into a memory.
The one Frostbite Spider tried to jab him with its two front stinger limbs like they were spears, he blocked and shoved back, sending the arachnid a few meters away. Bringing his greatsword over his head with both hands, and slamming down into its exoskeleton armor; nearly carving the spider in half.
The other spider jumped at Moro; tackling him to the ground. He held its pincer legs at bay with his hands and tried to keep the spiders jaws away from his face. He kicked the frost spider in its abdomen, sending the creature into the cave wall behind it.
Moro rolled back; retrieving his sword and charged the dazed spider. Before it could defend itself; Moro drove his blade straight down into the creatures head, effectively ending the spider's life.
Moro withdrew his blade from the lifeless husk and knelt before the creature's fangs; noticing that venom was dripping off, grabbed an empty vial and collected a fair dose of its venom.
"This will come in handy against the right opponent." Moro said before standing up and placing the Frostbite Venom into his coats pocket, and sheathed his sword again; ready to carry on.
Turning left; leading him further down into the cave, the wind got stronger; meaning the exit was close. He came to a small creak and on the other side of the cave was bear sleeping.
Shaking his head, Moro crouched and slowly moved across the creak; passed a stone column. He made no sound as he treaded past the slumbering bear.
When he was far enough away; Moro stood once more, seeing the bones before him but paying them no mind as the wind practically blew against his face as if he were standing on the coast.
Before him was daylight, something he never thought he would be so happy to see in his life.
He jogged for the cave exit, with the promise of freedom.
Outside Helgen in Skyrim
Moro grumbled as the glare of the noon sun; shone down on him. Covering his eyes as he was momentarily blinded, Moro strode slowly forward as his sight adjusted and returned.
Moro took in the wide mass beauty of the landscape known as Skyrim.
"Huff…..hmmm…." Moro slowly inhaled and exhaled the cold air of the mountains choice in wardrobe; mainly snowy cloaks, rainy jackets and mossy boots.
"Freedom…" The Dunmer said to himself as he began his walk down the incline that leads away from Helgen.
But…
The Gods didn't seem to be done with him just yet.
Moro's ears quickly picked up that he was not alone.
The Dunmer grunted in irritation.
"I know you're there, no point in hiding." Moro announced with no small amount of annoyance; waiting for his would-be assassin.
From behind the tree line to his left, a robed figure emerged and walked into the path in front of Moro; a few feet distance between the two.
The two stared each other down like an opposing force meeting the immovable object. Moro didn't know who this person was or what he wanted and he didn't really care, this individuals intentions seemed to be an object in his path. To rob or murder him was yet to be decided, Moro didn't intend to be a victim of either.
"If you value your life, you should stand aside and not pursue me any further." Moro gave his warning to the robed figure in his way; starting to take in his appearance.
The robed figure wore mage robes; that were decorated with odd golden like symbolism, with leather-like boots, the lower cloak of the robes bore similar symbols to those running across the loin cloth of the robes, the stranger also wore gloves to keep the cold out, it was hard to see the strangers face; he was also wearing a metal mask with the same symbols under the hood, but that's when Moro caught sight of an odd metal contraption on the strangers right arm.
The contraption started at the figures shoulder to the elbow and carried on till the wrist; where it strapped to the hand, providing protection to the whole arm.
'Perhaps that's just a measure of defense; in case you run out of magicka or there's something more to it.' Moro thought to himself as he summed up the strange opposition.
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Authors Notes:
This chapter was longer but I wanted the next bit to have title that actually matched the situation. So far but not even close to the distance this story will cover.
Please review, a lot of energy was spent on this and I'd like to know it was worth it.