Darkwater Crossing, Eastmarch Hold
Skyrim
The 15th of Last Seed, 4E201

Belinda Rosalyn Scale was a Planeswalker, had been since age 7. It had been for almost ten years now. She was 16, about turn 17, and thankfully had managed to create a double to cover her absence. Since doing so, she had more freedom. It enabled her to actually travel more, see more of the Multiverse and all it had to offer. Over the last couple months, she had been to Ravnica, Innistrad, Tarkir, Theros, and Fiora. She performed tricks on the streets, pickpocketed nobles, and collected coin to experience what some of these worlds had to offer, especially their cuisines. As the thoughts of her dinner from last night came to mind though, she frowned. Ravnica most certainly had some excellent dining experiences, but eating at that Golgari establishment was probably not a great idea.

She had done a lot of growing since her Spark ignited. She was lovely with long, silky, ebony-black hair that she wore in a tightly-woven French braid with fluffy bangs over her forehead and a long side bang with a white satin ribbon tied around the middle; a pair of silver-rimmed, amethyst-purple eyes behind wide, marquis-shaped lashes; and pale ivory skin, a beauty mark on her left cheekbone. On this day, she arrived on the plane of Nirn wearing a purple, sleeveless turtleneck top; blue denim skinny jeans; black leather boots and matching, black leather bracers; a black leather corset, a green sash, long red fingerless gloves, a gray trench coat, and an amethyst pendant on a silver chain. It was a testament to her love of color and her connection to all the colors of mana.

She landed in a settlement. It consisted of a stone building with a roof made of wood and hay with fogged up windows and a wooden door; a few tents around a fire pit, and a mine. A mining community a decade or so old. She looked around, spotting a sign on the nearby bridge. Goldenrock Mine, Darkwater Crossing. If she remembered correctly, it was a corundum mine, and about a day or two from the nearest city. Three at most if she wanted to travel to Whiterun; four days to Riften, five to Winterhold, a week to Solitude or Markarth. Maybe more. Belinda sighed. Even longer if she chose to leave the province. Choices!

As she stood there, thinking about where to go, she heard the clopping of hooves. Large hooves; Skyrim Warhorses most likely, or Clydesdales where she was from. She looked to the west where the clopping was coming from. There was a group of men and women riding down the road. Belinda rolled her eyes and turned back to the signs, trying to decide where to go. It was when they started passing her that all Hell broke loose. Curse you, Murphy's Law.

Imperial soldiers appeared from above and from the brush. These people had walked into a trap, and Belinda was caught in the middle! Belinda looked around wildly, not sure who to fight or not. Perhaps flight? An Imperial soldier rushed her, sword in his right hand and a shield on his left arm. Belinda had her answer. She conjured a sword of mithril in her left hand and arcane flames in her right. She raised her sword in defense and deflected the soldier's assault. The soldier raised his shield, circling her. Belinda's gaze followed his movements like a hawk. Finally, he charged again, and Belinda blasted him with fire. The soldier fell to the ground, screaming and rolling around to put the flames out. Belinda then pierced his heart with her sword. The fight continued around her and she joined in the fight against the Imperial soldiers, until someone or something slammed into the back of her head and knocked her unconscious.

Helgan, Falkreath Hold
Skyrim
The 17th of Last Seed, 4E201

Belinda's head was throbbing, her eyelids were heavy, her clothes were itchy, her mouth was disgustingly dry, she was sure her period had started, and she really needed to piss. All such wonderful things to wake up to! With a groan, she opened her eyes and shivered. Her surroundings were different. She was now south of the Throat of the World, surrounded by far more towering pines and denser foliage. Snow lay scattered in clumps on the ground, but was a wet, heavy kind as was normal of Last Seed, which would be August on her homeplane. She was now in Falkreath Hold. She could literally feel the flow of green, blue, and red mana. She started gathering the magic, trying to refill her diminished stock. Within her, the mana mingled into a colorless form, ready to change into whatever she needed.

Next thing on her list: Get this foul taste out of her mouth. She lifted her hands. Her hands were bound in a way that would make what she intended hard. She frowned, thinking, well, piss, shit, ass, balls, and twats! She had a vulgar mouth, and enjoyed the faces of those around her when she spouted her vulgarity. It brought her a certain glee, especially on planes where women were expected to be polite and proper and nothing else. Alas, this position did not. She started twisting her wrists around to cup her hands and conjure water to them. Water filled her hands, magic keeping it from falling out. She drank then, washing the foul taste from her mouth. With a grunt, she twisted her hand back around. The man across from her turned to face her.

"You're finally awake?" he asked. He was a Nord, tall, muscular, blue eyes, and long, wild blond hair. Standard traits. He wore a shirt of iron chainmail under a padded leather tunic that was trimmed with fur; a blue wrap held in place by brown leather belts, leather pants, and fur and leather pants. He was attractive. Very attractive.

"Why yes, yes I am," Belinda flirted, batting her lashes.

The Nord man blushed. "Um..." He was at a loss for words. He finally found what he had intended on asking: "Are you okay?"

Belinda sighed. "Well, let's see, I have a massive headache, I need to wash my face, these nasty-ass clothes itch, I really need to piss, and my twat is full of blood, so I in case you didn't notice, I am really, really, really not okay right now," she answered, counting each problem off on her fingers. "Sorry…" This Nord was clearly a nice fellow.

"Shut up, back there," the man driver the carriage snapped. He grabbed his waterskin and started drinking.

"Oh, go fuck a duck," Belinda retorted.

The man, a Cyroldiilic, nearly choked on his water. It went flying from his mouth. He coughed and pounded on his chest. "The fuck you just say?!" he demanded, turning to her, brown eyes wide.

"I'm not much of a driver, but shouldn't you be watching the road?" Belinda asked, smirking.

The carriage went over a large rock, shaking it. The Cyrodiilic yelped in alarm and fell. A set of hooves sped up alongside the carriage and the horse's rider took control of the carriage. He whistled, bringing to the procession to a halt.

"What's going on?!" came an old, weathered voice.

"Sorry, General Tullius!" said the soldier on the horse who rode up. "Altus lost control of the carriage and fell off!"

The soldier, Altus, climbed back into the seat, grumbling. It was all Belinda could do not to burst out laughing. Of course, she and the blond Nord did laugh. The soldier on the bay horse, also a Nord, started laughing too. They continued on after that, the procession making it to community inside a wall. They passed a man wearing shinning, gold-colored armor and a red cape on a bay horse, conversing with a tall, gold-skinned Elf woman in black robes, also on a horse.

"Look at him; General Tullius the military governor," the blond Nord huffed, "and it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn Elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

"Not a huge fan of a bunch of arrogant, pretentious, self-entitled prigs?" Belinda asked.

"Not really, no," the Nord answered. "And don't think little of me, but you use some... Rather large words."

"Ah, I don't look down on anyone because of grammar," Belinda assured. "We'll see how much I like you."

"Assuming we don't die first," the Nord muttered.

"Mara, Shor, Dibella, Kynareth, Divines... Please help me..." another Nord pleaded, looking to the sky.

Belinda finally noticed the other two men in the carriage with them. One was a scrawny, yet tall Nord with near-black hair, brown eyes, and dirt-covered skin. Like Belinda, he had been thrown into raggedy clothes that ill-fit and looked uncomfortable. The other one... Belinda recognized him as the tall, proud Nord who had led the group Eternities only know how long ago outside of Darkwater Crossing. He was bound like Belinda, the other blond Nord, and the dark brunette across from him. But unlike them, he was gagged. His blond hair was darker, a dirty blond and his eyes had stormy blue-grey color. He had a light tan. He dressed in storm-blue, black, and dark grey with black bear fur on his shoulders. He looked very attractive as well.

"Who are they Daddy? Where are they going?" Belinda heard a boy ask his father. She looked to the porch of a house they were passing. There was a woman in a green dress, a man in leathers (a hunter perhaps...), and a boy wearing blue pants, a red tunic, and leather shoes. He had chin-length blond hair, blue-green eyes, and was as pale as any Nord.

"You need to go inside the house, Little Cub," his father, the man in leathers, said. His voice was stern.

"Why? I wanna watch the soldiers," the boy pined.

"Inside the house. Now," his fathered ordered.

From where she sat on the bouncing carriage, she could see the despair and fear behind his angry, stern eyes. This man was trying to shelter his son from the approaching horror. He loved his son, and it was clear he didn't care for the empire and what it had become. But his son loved to watch the soldiers. If he remained outside, his view of soldiers would be tarnished, tainted by what was to come. And yet, for some reason, the boy was etched into her mind. Would he be important? Would he play a major part in this beautiful world of Nirn? Was he...?

"Yes, Papa," the boy sighed, getting up and heading into the house.

The two carriages pulled to a halt, the filthy, dark-haired Nord exclaiming, "Why are we stopping?"

"Why do you think? End of the road," the light blond Nord replied.

"No, this can't be happening! This can't be happening!" the dark-haired Nord cried.

"Get these prisoners off the wagons! One at a time! Move it!" shouted a woman in steel imperial armor.

"Let's not keep the gods waiting," the light blond Nord said to Belinda, the two of them rising.

Belinda had the mana, and the motive, to Planeswalk the Hell out of there. But something compelled her to stay. She wanted to see how this ended. Once she was on the chopping block, she was gone. She'd come back eventually, once things calmed down. Give it a month or two. Okay, so not more than a week! Nirn was too interesting! And certainly her favorite plane. It had been the first plane she ever visited when her spark ignited.

The dirty blond Nord jumped down as the female solider shouted, "Approach the block when you name is called!"

Belinda jumped down, the light blond Nord behind her, sighing. "Empire loves their damned lists..." He jumped down.

"Well, it's nice to know who I'll be sharing the block with," Belinda joked, smiling lightly.

"Has anyone ever told you you're strange?" the light blond asked, raising a brow.

Belinda smirked, flashing a strangely sexy, yet terrifying and amused toothy smile. "I never tire of hearing it," she answered, and chuckled.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," said the brunette Nord who had been riding the bay horse earlier. He had a book resting on his left arm, a quill in the other. He looked rather distraught, exhausted.

The gagged, dirty blond Nord moved toward the block. He stood tall and proud, trying to look strong for his people. It was unfair that he had to be gagged and bound in such a way.

"It's been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," the light blond said.

"Ralof of Riverwood," the brunette Nord sighed, seemingly more upset.

The light blond Nord followed Jarl Ulfric, also with pride.

"Lokir of Rorikstead," the brunette Nord called.

"NO! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Lokir, the dark-haired Nord, shouted. He started running. No one stopped him. The brunette and the female soldier didn't turn. Belinda kept a straight face. Even if she had tried to stop him, he wouldn't listen to her. Cowards like this Lokir never learned, and when they ran, they died. Belinda had learned long ago to just let them go. As expected, the imperial archers shot him. Lorkir fell face first into the cobblestone road, three arrows protruding from his back. Belinda didn't flinch.

"Anyone else feel like running?" the female soldier demanded.

Her response was silence.

"Wait, who are you?" the brunette Nord asked, looking to Belinda.

She stared at him, raising a brow. "What's wrong, little soldier? Not on your list?" she asked. "Maybe I'm just here by mistake?" She gave a devious little smile.

The brunette Nord looked at his ledger. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, Ralof of Riverwood, and Lokir of Rorikstead. "Bettina! I need to see your ledge!" he shouted. A female soldier in the standard leathers came over with her book and read: Gunjar of Karthwasten, Woden Red-Axe, Frig of Fox-Child, and Yngvi. This confused him. He turned to Belinda again. "Name?"

"Belinda Scale."

The brunette Nord checked the ledgers again. "Captain, what should we do?" he asked. "She's not on either of the lists."

"Forget the lists; she goes to the block," the captain answered.

"Shouldn't we consult General Tullius-?" the leather-clad female asked.

"To the block!" the captained said again, making the young Cyrodiilic flinch.

Gods, what a bitch, Belinda thought.

"I'm sorry it had to be like this," the brunette Nord said to Belinda. "I'll make sure your remains are returned to... Why are you from?"

"Nowhere and everywhere," Belinda answered, her mischievous smirk remaining, "and that is where I'll go. If not, just dump my ashes in the ocean." She approached the block. Of course, behind that mischievous look of hers, her thoughts kept going back to needing to use the bathroom. By Urza's motherfucking tits! I'm going to get kidney disease from this, she thought irritably. She went to stand in the lineup of Nords doomed to the chopping block. Ulfric Stormcloak stood before the soldier in the golden armor. General Tullius was it?

"Ulfric Stormcloak," the man, Tullius, began, "some here in Helgan 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 in to chaos and now the empire's going to put you down and restore the peace."

Belinda snorted. "Yeah, good luck with that," she laughed.

The imperial soldiers glared at her as a thunderous roar echoed across the sky.

"What was that?" the brunette Nord asked.

Belinda knew.

"It was nothing; carry on," the gold-glad soldier answered.

"Yes, General Tullius!" the captain said, saluting. She turned to a woman in orange robes with a yellow hood. "Give them their last rights," she ordered.

The woman nodded and raised her hands, saying, "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessing of the Eight Divines upon, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved-."

The one called Yngvi rolled his eyes and cut her off with, "Oh, for the love of Talos! Shut up and let's get this over with!" He walked up to the chopping block.

"As you wish," the priestess responded, irritated. She walked off, offended.

The captain walked up behind Yngvi as he shouted, "Come on! I haven't got all morning!" The captain shoved him to his knees and pressed him against the block. The execution raised his axe. "My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials! Can you say the same?!" The executioner brought his axe down, cleaving Yngvi's head clean off. The civilians gasped in alarm.

"Oh, come on! You idiots knew it was coming!" Belinda shouted to them. "And besides, don't you have anything better to do?!" The civilians blinked, exchanging glances and mutters. "Fucking ingrates," Belinda muttered. "They're all sheep."

"Next, the mouthy one!" the captain snapped, sick of Belinda's crap.

"Me?" Belinda asked. "Okay, okay, I'll-." She was cut off by the roaring. "I was trying to say something witty, asshole!" she shouted to the sky.

"What is that?" the brunette Nord asked.

You really wanna know? Belinda thought.

"I said, next. Prisoner."

Belinda rolled her eyes and walked up to the chopping block, readying to Planeswalk. She was smiling. They wouldn't know what hit them! Oh, how she wished she could see the looks on their faces! The executioner returned to the block as Belinda was shoved to her knees, cheek pressed against warm blood. The executioner raised his axe. Belinda was already on the edge of the Plane, beginning, but she stopped as a massive, black dragon flew in from over the mountains.

"What in Oblivion is that?!" General Tullius exclaimed.

"Dragon!" the one called Frig shouted.

That's not Paar-! She was cut off when the dragon landed on the tower behind the executioner, causing the ground to shake. Her purple eyes locked with the black dragon's red eyes. It was worse. The black dragon then shouted, the sky darkening and the world around her bursting into flame. She blacked out, thinking, I really hate my life sometimes...