Disclaimer: I own original characters only, Skyrim and LOK belong to their rightful owners.
Edit: I've decided to go back and add codex entries at the end of all my chapters, so readers who aren't well versed in the lore of one or both series (probably a lot of people) will have context. It also gives me a chance to show off some of the AU changes I have planned and lay the foundation for the rest of the story.
I'm also doing some serious grammar cleanup. Looking through this after taking classes towards an English major makes me see a lot of mistakes that need correcting. I've also made some changes to Johann's character so as to break away from the usual Nord sword swinger archetype, make the story more interesting to write and read.
Also taking some major inspiration from a recent Fudgemuppet video on redesigning the Holds of Skyrim and the setting, since I feel like it breathes more life into the world.
There's just one more thing I wanted to add here
Grandpa Edgar (1930-2018)
Grandma Florence (1930-2021)
I hope you find each other again in the next life.
You helped shape me into the person I am today; I love you and I will never forget you.
May we all be reunited again someday.
Book 1: Tamriel
Chapter 1: The Return Part 1: Old Endings, New Beginnings
"When I was a child, my grandmother told me stories from her youth: When the entirety of Tamriel was united under the rule of the Septim Dynasty, and things were peaceful.
Then the Mythic Dawn wiped out the Emperor's family and tried to sell out the world to Mehrunes Dagon.
Martin Septim, the last surviving son of the Emperor, sacrificed his life to stop them; but that was only the beginning of the beginning of the Empire's fall...
A sect of Altmer supremacists took advantage of the chaos and took power in Summerset, breaking away from the reeling Empire of man. In later years, they would drag Valenwood and Elsweyr into forming the Third Aldmeri Dominion, with the intention of dismantling all human civilization and restoring the Elven hegemonies of eras past.
Under the Mede Dynasty, founded by a Colovian Warlord who wanted to keep the Empire together, Cyrodiil fought the Dominion to a standstill in the Great War... and then surrendered. Now the Empire is a shell of its former glory, and a civil war in Skyrim threatens to take away their strongest vassal, all while the Dominion gathers strength and readies for another war.
Every day the future grows more chaotic, and I worry about the future of my family. How long before the Empire decides to press my husband into the Legion? Or draft my daughter into Battlemage training?
Most of all I worry for my son. We've trained him the best we can, but that's no substitute for actual experience. There's nothing more we can do to prepare him...
The world needs him now more than we do."
- From the Journal of Anna Owl-Blood, Court-Mage of Bruma
15th of Last Seed 4E 76
Bruma, Cyrodiil
The wind howled as the sun set, carrying with it freshly powered snow that had been sprinkled over the city early in the day. While the rest of the province would be experiencing the closing days of summer, Bruma's proximity to the Jerrall Mountains caused snowfall year-round.
The citizens closed up their shops for the day, leaving for either home or the Tavern.
One of these people was a young Nord running through the crowd to his family's home near the east gate. He was no older then seventeen, just a bit taller then normal for his age, shoulder length bright red hair, his blue eyes shining through the falling powder.
Finally reaching the door of his home, he gently opened the door, hoping to silently slip in and avoid gathering attention. It wasn't that he didn't want to see his family, he just wanted to be alone after the argument he and his parents had over his future.
But this wasn't the case.
"Johann?" a middle-aged female voice asked as he shut the door.
Johann looked to find both his parents waiting for him in the entry hall of their home.
His mother, Anna, was the court-mage, an advisor to the Count and Countess of Bruma on arcane matters. Dressed in a set of dark blue college robes, she sat in a chair next to a table by the stairway.
Leland, his father, was a lieutenant in the city guard. Dressed in a set of steel armor, with a steel sword sheathed at his hip. He had little hair left, compensated by a thick beard. He stood next to his wife, his own blue eyes locked on his second son.
"Yes, mama?" Johann asked in kind.
"Your father and I have been talking about what you said yesterday..." she began.
"I wouldn't really join the Legion!" He began, thinking back to the argument the day before. "I just think it's time to see the world, find my own place in it!"
Yesterday, Johann had tried to convince his parents he was ready to leave home and have his own life. His parents both argued that the world was too dangerous for him, that he needed more training. After half an hour of yelling, Johann left the house saying he would join the Imperial Legion if that's what it took to leave Bruma. After that, neither side spoke to each other until this moment.
"We know that," his father added in, speaking for the first time, "and that's not what this is about, this is about a compromise."
"A compromise?"
"Yes," his mother said, "we talked about it with some friends. After hearing their opinions, we've changed our minds."
Johann's eye's widened and a smile grew across his face. "Really?!"
"Yes," his father returned the smile. "We all have to start at some point, and now's about as good a time as any. But we allow this on three conditions."
"One, we want you to go back to Whiterun first, see if you'd like to live in our true home once more," his mother said.
Johann nodded fervently. His family originally came from Whiterun, living in Skyrim for generations. They only left to support Anna's aging parents in Bruma. Their family still has many friends back in Skyrim.
"Two," his mother continued, dragging him out of his thoughts, "We don't want you getting involved in the rebellion. Stay out of Eastmarch and Haafingar, or we'll come and drag you back here."
"And lastly," his father added, "we want you to keep your gifts a secret as much as possible."
"Why spend years training me if you just want me to hide it? I could help people," Johann asked, confounded.
"The world is a dangerous place." his mother began, "It's not that we don't want you to help people, that's the reason we trained you in the first place. We just want you to be careful."
"Many people are waiting for someone with your abilities to appear." his father continued, "But not all of them will welcome you with open arms. There will be many who will want you gone, and sometimes..."
"The line between friends and enemies can be very thin." Johann finished for his father, completing the lesson his parents had taught both their children many times.
Since the day he could read a book, Johann's mother trained him and his sister in the arcane arts; a practice was upheld among multiple branches of the family. His sister and their cousins studied among the Synod and College of Whispers, like their mothers and their grandmother before them. What was kept secret from outside the immediate family was that Johann was given additional training to master several abilities. Rare abilities that would be of interest to multiple factions in Tamriel, which was why Johann was not permitted to study in the Imperial City like his sister. While he understood how to fight with these powers, he was far from being called a master with any of them.
"Your not telling me everything," Johann declared, "why are you really letting me go to Skyrim?"
Johann's parents looked to one another. After a moment and a shared look they nodded their heads and turned their attention back to their son.
"We've taught you all we can." his mother said, "If you're going to become the man you want to be, the man the world needs, you have to find your own path."
"For thousands of years, Skyrim has been not only the homeland of our people," his father continued, "but also a proving ground for some of the greatest heroes in Tamriel."
"But the other provinces have plenty of danger, just look at Cyrodiil," Johann suggested, "I know it's our homeland, but why send me to Skyrim, yet tell me to stay out of the Civil War? It makes no sense."
"You should be thankful we're allowing you to go in the first place," his father said, matter-of-factly, before shaking his head lightly, "do you want to know the truth, the full truth?"
"Yes," Johann said, lightly disgusted that his parents felt they still had to keep secrets from him, especially when they affected his future.
"There's been word among travelers from the North," his mother said, "they say Skyrim is falling apart. Bandits harassing cities and farms. Warlocks kidnapping people for dark experiments. Some even say the dead are rising from the grave to protect their burial sites. It's complete chaos."
They took a moment to let Johann fully grasp the news. His eyes widened at the thought of Skyrim at the mercy of outlaws and the dead.
"The soldiers are too busy with the war to deal with any of this. The guards can barely defend their own cities, much less go hunting for criminals," his father explained, "If something isn't done, it will all fall to pieces. Do you understand?"
Johann closed his eyes, comprehending what his parents had silently asked of him.
"I understand, when do I leave?"
17th of Last Seed 4E 76
Cyrodiil/Skyrim Border, Jerall mountains
Two Days later
The gate bridged the gap between two small mountains, giving way to a large forest with snow blanketing the cobbled road. Johann expected to see Legionnaires standing guard, but the area was deserted.
After a day of packing valuables and belongings, as well as saying goodbye to his sister and grandparents, Johann set off from Bruma in the early hours of the morning, hoping to be in Whiterun by nightfall.
In his pack, he carried another set of clothes and a small supply of potions meant for restoring strength, health, and magicka. His mother gave him five hundred gold to use for necessities, and his father gave him a carved Nordic broadsword for self-defense.
Johann rested his hand on the pommel of his blade as he tried to pick out sound of life nearby. It was as if all life in the area had simply vanished, chased away by some unseen force.
Johann kept walking down the road thinking of all that was waiting for him in Whiterun: his birthplace, his true home. He thought of the friends he and his sister left behind, like the Grey-Mane and Battle-Born children, or Farkas and Vilkas in the Companions. All of them were adolescents when the Storm-Rider family left Whiterun, and-
His thoughts were interrupted when something ran out of the brush on his right and nearly knocked him off his feet.
Coming to his senses, Johann reached for his sword and searched for his assailant. He saw a Nord man with red hair running down the road, dressed in chainmail and leather armor with blue cloth draped over his shoulders. Two more Nords came out of the brush and ran after the first, ignoring Johann's presence. Both of them were blond, one dressed like the redhead, the other wore a dark fur cloak over a matching chainmail shirt and vest.
Thinking they were in trouble, Johann followed them as they rushed down the road toward the northeast. They disappeared around a bend in the road and broke Johann's line of sight for a few minutes. When he rounded the trees, his eyes widened like dinner plates.
The men he'd been following were surrounded by Legionnaires, each of them pointing a blade at the Nords. Outside the circle of soldiers, an older Imperial in ornate armor sat atop a horse, glaring down at the trapped nobleman.
"Ulfric Stormcloak," the horseman declared loudly, "by the authority of Emperor Titus Mede II, I place you under arrest on charges of murder, betrayal, and rebellion against the Empire."
Johann dropped his jaw when he heard that. Ulfric's men were about draw their weapons until Ulfric signaled them to stand down. Both men reluctantly followed the order and dropped their axes at their feet.
As the Imperials moved to arrest the rebels, one of them noticed Johann down the road.
"There's another one!" the Legionnaire shouted.
"Capture him!" the officer shouted from his horse, raising his sword in Johann's direction.
Johann turned around to run back the way he came, only to find more Imperial soldiers coming up the road. Probably the ones who chased Ulfric and maneuvered him into this trap.
Looking back and forth at the Imperials coming at him in both directions, Johann's thoughts ran at a thousand miles a minute, trying to think of a way out of this. These men were out for blood, they wouldn't listen to reason, and if he tried to fight with only his sword, they would overpower him.
This left him with only one option.
He dropped into a stance; both hands flat, right arm out in front of him, left arm pulled back to guard his chest. Ready to intercept the first soldier that came into range.
When the first soldier tried to bring his sword down on Johann's shoulder... he only cut through thin air, as Johann had ducked out of the way and to the left. Then he grabbed hold of a of a halberd that another had tried to cleave him with, and followed up by pulling the weapon out of the Imperial's hands. He swung the weapon by the handle to knock the first man off his feet.
The second man was still wondering how his lost his weapon to a child when he was accosted by the shoulders, turned around, and kicked by said child, into a third soldier who was attempting to run at Johann and bash him with his shield.
Less then a second after, the fourth man tried to put Johann in a headlock, until the young Nord elbowed the Imperial in the abdomen. ducking behind his assailant to take cover from the last soldier in the squad, an archer.
"Damn it," the archer said to himself quietly, bow pulled back and ready to launch, he yelled out, "get away from him! I need a clear shot!"
Before the soldier could move, two arms wrapped around his still aching torso, and Johann grunted as he picked the man up off his feet... and began to run right at the archer while using the man as a human shield. The archer then dropped his bow and was going for his dagger when the weight of of a soldier in full armor collided with him, sending them both tumbling off the road.
With all the soldiers disabled in one way or another, Johann turned his attention to the Imperials guarding their leader and prisoners. They'd all stood by and watched as one young Nord completely decimated a squad of their comrades, their jaws had hit the floor. Their leader, however, recovered quickly, bared his teeth in anger, and was about to order a charge... when a hand touched his shoulder and gathered his attention.
The hand belonged to a High Elf woman dressed in black robes with gold embroidery, she shook her head, knowing what he was going to do.
"Allow us," she said to the officer, before turning to her soldiers, all dressed in light-gold colored armor decorated with eagle motif.
"Take him! Do not let him escape!"
The High Elf soldiers charged past their Imperial "comrades," expecting to surprise the foolish human, but instead the human wasn't even paying attention to them.
Johann had both his arms raised before him, slowly raising them as he concentrated in his mind. The Elven warriors stopped their charge halfway between him and the Imperials, forming a defensive line.
No one expected what came next.
Stamping his feet into the ground, Johann released a blast of rock and snow, tearing up the road in front of him, effectively creating a landslide uphill at his opponents.
The Elves had the worst of it, being closer to the origin point, their thinly plated armor barely protecting them from the onslaught of rocks. All of them were thrown backwards upon collision, most of them had their armor dented, and a few unlucky ones hit in the head or upper torso fell to the ground bleeding.
The Imperials and their prisoners fared much better, due to both distance, and the fact that most of the heavier projectiles hit the Elves. Several men moved forward and raised their shields, protecting themselves and their comrades from the incoming rubble. With the shield wall raised, they weathered the storm of rock-filled snow, and when it was over, drew their swords to prepare for battle...
...Only to find Johann had disappeared, the field was empty save for groaning and bleeding Elven troops.
Contorting his face in anger, the leading officer began barking orders as the elves tended to their wounded.
"He's gone into the forests!" he yelled out, "spread out! Find him!"
As soon as the rocks launched, Johann used the attack as a distraction and ran into the snowed covered forest as fast as he could, thinking about his current problem.
He'd effectively declared himself an enemy of the Empire by resisting arrest, and demonstrating his abilities was another thing altogether. Once those soldiers reported in, he'd likely have a bounty on his head making him a criminal in the Empire and whatever territories they still held in Skyrim.
That only left the regions outside their control, like the areas united under the Stormcloak's banner. He wasn't about to leave his homeland, especially if his family came looking for him, so that him with a few options. Like heading to Windhelm or Ri-
Johann's line of thought was cut short as he slammed into something hard and cold, before falling back into the snow.
Standing up and regaining his composure, he saw he'd run right into a cliff wall, too distracted by his thoughts to see where he was going. He also noticed that he'd run into a sort of box canyon, only one way in or out, unless you knew how to climb rock walls.
He was about to walk out when he heard something that made his blood run cold.
"There he is!" a somewhat high-toned voice yelled.
Out from behind some trees, two more elves appeared with swords drawn, both had their armor dented in several places from Johann's rock blast, and both were advancing on him quickly.
Johann stepped back into the little canyon as the elves cut off his escape, ready to draw his sword or possibly earthbend again.
"You're going to pay for what you've done," the first elf said as he cornered the young nord.
"What did you have in mind, Noleraan?" the second elf asked, speaking to his cohort.
"I say give him a taste of real power before we hand him over to the Emissary," the first, now known as Noleraan said.
The second soldier nodded and stepped back, while Noleraan sheathed his sword and dropped into a stance.
He then pulled water from the snow in the ground and began to pull it through the air with his hands and arms. Both kept their eyes on the floating glob of water, and while the elf was impressed with himself, Johann was not.
"You humans think you're the only ones who've learned a few tricks over the centuries?" Noleraan said spitefully to Johann, who only scowled at him, "let me show you what real skill looks like!"
With that, he threw the water like an arrow at Johann, waiting for it to hit so he could encase the young man in ice.
Only this never happened.
Johann intercepted the water in mid-air, pulled it around, and threw it back at the elf's torso.
Noleraan's face turned from sadistic glee, to surprise, and finally shock as the water knocked him off his feet and back into the snow.
As he tried to get up, Johann bombarded him and his comrade with blasts of air from open palm strikes. After five blasts, both elves were blown off their feet and sent flying out of the canyon and into nearby tree trunks.
Catching his breath, Johann dropped his stance and leant back against the rock wall, the last hour's exertion catching up with him.
SNKKK!
The sound of metal vs metal dragged him out of his stupor.
Looking over to the unconscious elves, he saw a man dressed like the prisoners from earlier driving a battleaxe into one elf's spine, while another one slit the other's throat with a dagger. While they wiped the blood off their weapons, a third came out of the trees and walked toward Johann.
"Are you alright?" Asked one of them, a woman.
Johann simply nodded.
"Come with us," she said, offering her hand, "it's not safe here, we have a camp nearby."
He took her hand, and she and her comrades led him out of the box canyon and further into the forest.
Falkreath Stormcloak Camp
The soldiers led Johann to a camp situated on a small hill over looking the road, occupied with more of their comrades.
They led Johann to a small fire pit surrounded by several tents just outside a much larger tent.
"Wait here," said the man who killed the unconscious elf, "the commander will want to speak to you."
As they walked off to the large tent, Johann sat down at the fire, alone with his thoughts.
After about five minutes of staring into the fire and feeling it's warmth, he didn't even notice the soldier's return with their commander.
"What troubles you, boy?" a deep voice rumbled.
Johann looked up to see a man dressed in leather armor, with metal reinforcements on his guantlets and boots. It was also decorated with a bear pelt hanging over his shoulders, with the bear's head used as a sort of helmet. The man himself had moderately tanned skin, eyes blue as ice, and a graying beard tied off with a small band.
"I just... wasn't expecting this day to go the way it has. I know there's a war on, but I didn't think I'd see it on my first day back in Skyrim." Johann answers with a sigh.
The man nodded and offered his hand. Johann took it and pulled himself to his feet.
"You saw why we fight today. The Thalmor would hunt us like dogs, unless we put them down first. What's your name lad? Where are you from?"
"My name is Johann Owl-Blood. I'm was born in Whiterun."
"Ah, home of the Companions and the most stubborn Jarl in Skyrim." The man laughed a bit after that. "I'm Galmar Stone-Fist, housecarl to Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, the rightful High King of Skyrim."
Johann blinked. "You're Ulfric's housecarl? I saw him earlier!"
This caused Galmar's brow to furrow, and moved his arm in the direction of a nearby tent. "Let's talk in the command tent."
A large table took up most of the space inside the tent, covered by a map of Skyrim with flags marking forts and settlements. Galmar walked around the other side of the table and looked at Johann as the younger Nord walked in.
"You saw Ulfric? Where? Is he alright?" Galmar's questions had a restrained sense of urgency behind them.
"He almost knocked me down after I crossed the border. Next thing I know, the Legion has him surrounded and some officer said he was under arrest. Then they saw me and thought I was one of Ulfric's men, and it all went to Oblivion from there." In his mind, Johann was sweating under the Housecarl's attention. Even moreso when Galmar slammed his fist down on the table.
"Damnit all! I never should've let him leave the city without me. Or at least a small army." Galmar sighed deeply, frustration in every word.
"How in Oblivion did Ulfric end up in a trap so far away from Windhelm?" Johann asked in confusion.
"He was on his way to Ivarstead, heading through Darkwater crossing, he wanted to speak to the Greybeards for some reason."
"He didn't tell anyone why?"
"He didn't even tell me," Galmar said, pointing to himself. "Anyway, the Imperials were waiting for him, somehow they knew he would be there. When the trap was sprung, one man made it to Windhelm for reinforcements. I rallied as many men I could find to rescue him."
"So, what's your plan now?"
"I've got scouts following the caravan carrying Ulfric and the rest of his guard, when they return, we're going after them."
Johann was shocked, "when you say 'we,' you mean you and your men, don't you?"
Now Galmar was confused, "you mean you don't want to help?"
"Look, I wanted to leave home so I could find my way in the world, I didn't want to be a part of this war. This isn't my fight."
"You're a son of Skyrim, this is your fight!" Galmar exclaimed. "Fight with us! For Skyrim and her people!"
"I don't want to fight my own people!" Johann yelled back, before continuing calmly, "not the Stormcloaks, and not the Imperials, I just wanted to return home."
Before either of them could continue the debate, a man dressed in Stormcloak armor rushed into the tent.
"Sir!" the men said as he raised his fist over his chest, specifically his heart, in salute, "the caravan isn't going to the border like we thought, it's actually headed to Helgen, a fort with a small village west of here."
Galmar returned the scout's salute before replying. "Good work, soldier, go get yourself a hot meal."
The scout nodded and left the tent, and Galmar planted a small red flag on the map occupying the table.
"Shouldn't they be taking him to Cyrodiil?" Johann asked, confused, "why head for head for a small village instead?"
"It's not important, all that matters is getting Ulfric and his men out of Imperial hands," Galmar said as he picked up a large hammer leaning against the edge of the table. The weapon's most striking feature was the troll skull attached to the head, with the hammer's edge coming out between the head and jaw. "Look, my men won't stop you if you wish to leave, but if you want to help, it would be appreciated."
"Wait," Johann said as Galmar made for the tent's exit, "I'll make you a deal; I'll cause a distraction and you get your men out of there."
"What's the catch?" Galmar asked.
"Don't harm any Imperial soldiers."
"Why in the name of Shor not?!"
"Because they're only soldiers following orders, just like your men out there," Johann said, as he waved his arm at the soldiers seen outside, "they have friends and families waiting for them at home, and I refuse to be the reason they get sent back in a coffin."
"Why do you care anyway," Galmar said as he crossed his arms over his chest, "you said this wasn't your fight."
"Doesn't mean I want my homeland drowning in anymore blood than it is already," Johann explained, "and that's the path it will follow if Ulfric dies today. Now do you want help or not?"
Galmar stroked his beard, clearly weighing the options in his head, before turning back to Johann with a slight grin on his face.
Helgen, Falkreath hold
Johann walked down the hill, following the road west into the wall that protected the small village and fort.
The gates had just closed as he came in sight of the city, the carriages carrying Stormcloak prisoners and their guards passing through seconds before. As he walked up to the gate, an Imperial archer from on top of the gate noticed him.
"Halt! State your business here!" the archer shouted, ready to reach for his bow. This man was part of the fort garrison, so he wasn't there when Johann fought the Imperials and the Thalmor earlier.
"I'm just looking for supplies, maybe a place to sleep," Johann lied, hoping the guard would just let him in.
"Sorry, this fort is locked down," the guard said, "orders from General Tullius, no one goes in or out until he says so. If you head south-west, you can be in Falkreath in about an hour."
Johann nodded and watched as the guard continued his rounds, turning his attention to the courtyard beyond the gate. Johann made a run around the walls and toward the fort.
Finding a spot far enough away from patrolling archers, Johann used airbending to spin himself up and over the wall, before coming down not next a house not far from the northern gate. Not hearing any sounds of alarm, he assumed no one noticed him, and made his way across the road into an alley between a fort wall and couple buildings, taking care to watch for patrols.
At the end of the alley, he could see the prisoners disembarking the carriages parked in front of a house near two stone watch towers. Legionnaires were all over the place, guarding the courtyard between the towers and the fort wall, while a man dressed in a headsman's outfit, followed by a women in the robes of a priestess walked into the yard.
There were also a few High Elf troops scattered around, including the same woman who sicced the Thalmor on him back at the road. Standing guard at the southern tower was a couple of Wood Elf archers in front of the tower dressed outfitted in bosmeri leather armor: soft black leather covered in hardened red leather strips over the torso and limbs, with a helmet and matching hood draped over it.
As Johann made his way over the road again, this time taking cover near the inn, he could hear the Imperials begin to order the prisoners around.
"Step forwards toward the block when we call your name. One at a time!" An Imperial woman dressed in heavy plate armor commanded. Likely a captain.
A Nord with light brown hair stood next to her and began reading names off a list he held in his hands.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."
Ulfric, hands bound and mouth gagged, stepped forward toward the crowd of Stormcloaks between the carts and the headsman's block.
"Ralof of Riverwood."
A blond-haired man stepped forward into the crowd, the same man who was guarding Ulfric when they passed him by on the road earlier.
"Lokir of Rorikstead."
Another Nord stepped forward. This one was dressed in a ragged tunic and pair of pants, his dark brown hair matted and unwashed.
"No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!," he declared, before running past them and up the road.
"Halt!" the Captain shouted after the prisoner.
"You're not gonna kill me!" Lokir shouted back as he ran past the Wood Elf archers.
When the woman called for the archers to shoot him down, Johann readied his stance. Right as they were about to fire, he raised a small section of ground under Lokir's foot, causing the older Nord to hit the ground and making the archers miss their target. The puzzled elves ran over to their quarry, only to be sent flying into the fort wall with some airbending, once they were around the watchtower and out of sight. Johann ran over to Lokir when the Imperials turned their attention to the headsman's block.
"Who are you? Did the Divines hear my plea?" Lokir asked as Johann helped him to his feet and cut his leather cuffs with his sword.
"Uh... sure let's go with that." Johann replied, "Now go hide behind the inn. When the fighting starts, try to get out of here."
Lokir seemed confused by the statement, but nodded and ran off behind the inn.
As Johann started walking toward the towers, he heard some kind of roar echo in the distance. It didn't sound like any animal he could think of, and the sheer volume implied the beast was massive. He could see the imprisoned Stormcloaks look off into the distance for the source of the noise, and began hearing discussion as he walked to the execution.
"What was that?" asked the Nord Legionnaire. The same one with the list from earlier.
"It's nothing, carry on." This came from the same officer who led the ambush. The one who arrested Ulfric.
"Yes, General Tullius," the Captain said to her superior. "give them their last rites."
Before the priestess could begin, Johann came around the tower and began his attack.
First he sent the headsman's block flying into the headsman's gut. Then while everyone was watching that, he raised several stones from the ground and sent them at the soldier between him and Tullius. When the Captain moved to attack him, Johann raised and threw a rock the size of his torso at her, leaving her in a heap on the ground in front of the prisoners.
Before it could go any farther, Johann ran at the General, all the while pulling more rocks out of the ground and launching them at soldiers who tried to intercept him. When he reached Tullius, Johann bent a rock into his gut. The Imperial was winded long enough for Johann to unsheathe his sword and put the older man in a headlock with his left arm.
"Nobody move or the General dies!" Johann shouted at the top of his lungs, brandishing his Nordic sword with his free arm.
While the Imperials began to get up from the assault, the gate behind the prisoners exploded inward. A group of Stormcloaks led by Galmar entered the courtyard and surrounded the Imperials. The prisoners were elated, none more then Ulfric himself. Despite his gag, you could clearly see him smile.
"Why would you do this? We were about to end the war!" Tullius asked, still restrained and now furious.
Johann sighed. "To give this war another chance to end in peace."
Everyone heard what he said, and looked at the young Nord as if he'd grown a second head.
This didn't last long, as another roar was heard echoing around the mountains, this time much closer.
"What is that?" Ralof asked as one of his brothers-in-arms cut his bonds loose.
"Stay focused." Galmar said as he personally cut Ulfric's bonds and untied his gag. "We don't have much time. Get these dogs tied up and then get ready to move."
Then yet another roar was heard, this time right on top of them.
Johann looked to the north, and his eyes almost popped out of his head. Flying at them was a giant black beast with read eyes, with two large wings flapping powerfully, a pair of legs between them and it's tail. Every inch of the beast was covered in black scales that gleamed in the sunlight overhead.
A dragon.
"What in Talos' name is that?!" Galmar shouted in surprise.
"It's in the clouds!" a soldier shouted.
"Dragon!" another added.
The Dragon landed atop the tower, shaking the ground around them, before opening it's massive maw and roaring. As it did this, a storm gathered over head. Thunder began to sound. Lightning began to crack.
In the commotion, Johann let go the general and stood in front of the Stormcloaks. When the beast opened it's maw, it unleashed some kind of energy wave, not unlike a concentrated blast of air, directly at him. He tried to raise a rock wall to shield him from the blast, but it broke through and sent him flying back.
Johann was thrown against a carriage and his world went black.
CODEX
Species of Tamriel
The Nords of Skyrim: The Nords are the most direct descendants of the original human settlers from Atmora, from whom most human civilizations in Tamriel can trace their origins. These tall, fair-haired and fair-skinned humans are primarily known for their warrior culture, their devotion to the Divines, and their love of strong alcoholic drinks. A less commonly known part of Nordic culture is their love of song and poetry; one of the greatest pieces of Nord Culture is the Poetic Edda, a collection of songs described as the 'Living History of Skyrim'. The Nords believe that when they die in battle, their souls are carried to a place called Sovngarde, where they will be greeted by their ancestors with unending drink and cheer.
Nord warriors have formed the backbone of Imperial Legions for centuries, serving with honor and loyalty for generations, even in the current Civil War. This is not the first time Skyrim has been divided over the right of succession, but the consequences of this war could have far reaching consequences throughout the continent. The Empire's survival may depend on whether Skryim remains a vassal state or becomes an independent kingdom, and the fate of the Empire will decide the course of history for decades to come.
The Imperials of Cyrodiil: The men and women living in Tamriel's heartland are descended from human tribes who split away from the Atmora settlers and moved to settle lands outside of Skyrim. Thousands of years ago, the Imperial's ancestors were enslaved by an race of Elves known as the Ayleids, who used them for both cheap labor and ritual sacrifice to Daedric Lords. Eventually the humans would rebel and overthrow the Ayleids, taking the province for their own and naming the rebellion's leader, Alessia, as the first human Empress of Cyrodiil. Ever since, Cyrodiil has been the capitol of Empires that have spanned multiple provinces, sometimes even the entire continent. Thousands of years living at the heart of Tamriel have shaped the Imperials into a well-rounded people, who know when they should negotiate, when they should fight, and to approach all options with wisdom.
Several years ago, the elven Aldmeri Dominion eliminated every Imperial agent in their lands and made demands of the Emperor, the most notable being that the Empire outlaw the worship of Lorkhan in all forms. The Emperor refused, beginning the four-year-long Great War with the Dominion, which resulted in the deaths of tens of thousands of men and women on both sides. When it was over, the Emperor agreed to a peace treaty with the Dominion, which not only contained the same terms they dictated before the war, but allowed the Dominion to dispatch agents throughout the Empire and arrest anyone who does not comply with the terms. As of now, all but one of the Empire's legions watch the southern borders, waiting for the Great War to begin again so they can repay the Elves for all they've taken.
The Bretons of High Rock: Like the Imperials, the Bretons are descended from human tribes who left Skryim, travelling west into the Illiac Bay region and ending up enslaved by a group of High Elves known as Clan Direnni. Unlike the Ayleids however, the Direnni held true to the worship of the Aedra, and did not use their human slaves as fodder for dark rituals; however they did pass laws allowing a Direnni to take liberties with any human they desired. The early Bretons were the result of these interactions: humans with minor Elven traits like slightly pointed ears and an innate talent for the arcane arts. As the Direnni population dwindled and the Bretons took control of the region, the men and women with the most Elven blood became the original noble families and rulers of High Rock as a human-controlled province.
Dominion soldiers never set foot in High Rock during the Great War, but many Breton Legionnaires and Battlemages took to the fields of the Heartland, as well as the high seas in naval clashes with the Dominion fleets. Today, High Rock is the only human province not currently suffering from any form of civil unrest, and the Breton Kingdoms of Glenumbra, Stormhaven, Rivenspire, and Bangkorai are all firmly loyal to the Empire.
The Redguards of Hammerfell: The Redguards are the only human race whose ancestry is not linked to Atmora; instead their ancestors came from a chain of islands known as Yokuda, originally found to the west of High Rock and Hammerfell. Like the Nords, the Redguard culture is heavily centered around martial prowess and honor, however they are primarily known for their devotion to the way of the swordsman. Some of the greatest Redguard heroes were known as the 'Sword-Singers', men and women who could summon their spiritual essence in the form of a powerful blade. Despite the magical nature of this lost art, Redguards often have a strong aversion to the arcane arts, especially anything that has to do with raising the dead or consorting with Oblivion.
At the end of the Great War, the Empire was forced to cede territory in the southern regions of Hammerfell to the Aldmeri Dominion as part of the White-Gold Concordant. The rulers of Hammerfell refused to acquiesce to these terms, causing the Empire to renounce the province as a vassal state; leaving them to face the Dominion military on their own. After another year of war, the Dominion's exhausted military was finally driven out of Hammerfell, forcing them to sign the Second Treaty of Stros M'kai with the newly crowned High-Queen of Hammerfell. Today, the province is still recovering from the Great War, while grappling with the freedoms and burdens that come with being an independent nation for the first time in several hundred years.
The Altmer of Summerset: Translated directly to 'High ones' in the language of the Aldmer, commonly known as the High Elves, the tall golden-skinned natives of Summerset believe themselves to be the closest living relation to the original elven race. They take their ancestry and bloodline seriously, carefully planning marriages based on heritage rather than love; and if a child is born with a physical imperfection, they are disowned and abandoned. The Altmer navy is one of the most powerful military forces in Tamriel, and their natural talent in the arcane arts is unmatched by any other race.
The High Elves are the founders and rulers of the Third Aldmeri Dominion, created after all members of Summerset's ruling family were killed in the Oblivion Crisis seventy-five years ago and a faction of Elven supremacists known as the Thalmor took power. Under their leadership, the Dominion seeks to dismantle all human kingdoms and restore Elven rule throughout Tamriel, as it was before the rise of Alessia and the first Empire. While the Dominion's military recovers after the Great War, the Thalmor work to undermine the Empire and its vassal states through diplomatic channels and underworld tactics.
The Bosmer of Valenwood: The Wood Elves are believed to be descendants of some of the first Elves to leave the Summerset Isles and settle in Tamriel, making their home in the lush forests of Valenwood. Shorter then most races in Tamriel, the Wood Elves are primarily known for two things: their legendary archers and their near fanatical devotion to a religious compact known as the 'Green Pact'. The Green Pact forbids them from harming the living plant life in their homeland, including everything from the smallest flower to the tallest trees, on pain of eternal damnation upon death. The Pact also commands Wood Elves to devour everything they hunt and kill, permitting them to partake in cannibalism, to the horror of their neighbors in Elsweyr and Cyrodiil.
In the early years of the 4th Era, the Imperial-aligned government of Valenwood was overthrown by a Thalmor-backed coup, driving out both Imperial Legion and Bosmer loyalist forces while forming the Third Aldmeri Dominion. During the Great War, Wood Elven soldiers and archers fought in Cyrodiil under the Dominion banner against the Imperial Legions, causing tales to spread about squads being killed and devoured by ravenous Elves. Thirty years later, rumors spread about Thalmor squads wiping out entire Bosmer villages in Valenwood, sometimes for dissent against the Dominion and other times for the sake of 'Elven purity'.
The Dunmer of Morrowind: Thousands of years ago, a group of Altmer left Summerset, following the guidance and teachings of three Daedric Princes: Azura, Mephala, and Boethiah. Their exodus took them across Tamriel to a land in the northeast which is now called Morrowind; a land of volcanic ashlands, alien fungal forests, and strange insectoid species. Daedric intervention and natural evolution transformed these people into the Dunmer, a species of grey-skinned, red-eyed elves with an extreme resistance to fire, natural and magical. At the height of their power, the five Great Houses of the Dunmer ruled Morrowind with a council of noblemen, a system of legalized assassination, and an expansive network of slave labor.
Dark Elf society had been on the decline since they were pulled into the Empire against their will, due to opportunistic Nobles trading their cultural heritage for Imperial gold. During the Oblivion Crisis, the Empire pulled its military forces out of Morrowind to defend Cyrodiil, leaving the Dunmer homeland virtually defenseless until the Great House Redoran organized a new fighting force. Several years later, after the eruption of Red Mountain, the massive volcano in the center of the province, Morrowind was invaded by the Argonians of Black Marsh, who had to endure centuries of abduction and enslavement at the Dunmer's hands. Morrowind is still recovering to this day, under the direction of the Great House Redoran.
The Orsimer of Wrothgar: Translated to Outcast Elves and more commonly referred to as Orcs, the Orsimer are easily identified by their large stature, green skin, and tusks sticking out from their lower front teeth. Orc culture espouses three things above all else: strength of arms, skill in battle, and the practice of forging weapons and armor from a rare material called Orichalcum. Most Orcs live in strongholds scattered throughout the Wrothgarian mountains, to the west of High Rock, but there are other outposts found in Skyrim, Hammerfell, and Valenwood. They worship Malacath, the Daedric Prince of curses and spurns, who teaches them to seek vengeance for any injustice, to only let the strongest among them rule, and to face all opponents in fair combat.
The Orcs are the only people in Tamriel without their own recognized province, due to the fact that both High Rock and Hammerfell quash all their attempts to organize, for fear of the damage a united Orsimer nation could cause them. This does not stop young Orcs leaving their clans and joining the Imperial Legions, where their skills as warriors and blacksmiths are highly appreciated by the heartland. Every few generations, the Orc clans in Wrothgar come together to rebuild the city of Orsinium and forge a nation, it ignites a cultural debate between clan life and city life. The last incarnation of Orsinium was destroyed by Breton forces in the aftermath of the Oblivion Crisis, and the most recent attempt is being built on the foundations of Kurog's Orsinium from the Second Era, near the borders of Wrothgar, Stormhaven, and Bangkorai.
The Argonians of Black Marsh: Known as the Saxhleel in their native language, the Argonians are one of the two species of betmer in Tamriel, more commonly known as beast folk. Easily identified by their scales, thick tails, and lizard-shaped heads, Argonians are adept swimmers and capable of breathing underwater through a set of gills. They are a reclusive people born from the swampland in the southeast known as Black Marsh, content to remain shrouded in mystery to the other denizens of Tamriel. Argonians live in largely-independent tribes that make their homes around Hist trees, a race of sentient plant life that shapes their growth through consumption of its sap. The swamps of Black Marsh are filled with predators found almost nowhere else in Tamriel, which both test the natives' resolve and aid in their guerilla tactics against invaders.
For thousands of years, Argonians have had their homeland occupied and their people abused by outsiders, particularly by Dark Elves seeking cheap labor through the slave trade. During the Oblivion Crisis, the Hist reached out to Argonians throughout Tamriel and called them back to Black Marsh to aid in its defense; this overwhelmed the Daedric invaders to the point they abandoned their plans in Black Marsh. In the early 4th Era, the Argonians invaded Morrowind in retribution for centuries of abduction and enslavement, destroying many cities and nearly driving the Dres and Telvanni bloodlines to extinction. At the moment, several Argonian tribes have banded together under a regional government known as the An-Xileel, to prepare in case of a Dominion threat within their borders.
The Khajiit of Elsweyr: Descended from ancient elves transformed by Azura, the Khajiit come in several furstocks, including bipedal humanoids of several sizes, as well as small and large quadrapeds. A Khajiit's form is determined based on the phase of the moons when they are born, with each phase linked to a specific furstock; all are capable of speech and all are equal citizens in Elsweyr's kingdoms. The Khajiit worship Aedra and Daedra under altered names, revere the moons for their place in society, and follow a doctrine known as 'Riddle-Thar,' which was created by the first Mane. Elsweyr is divided into two kingdoms, Anequina to the north and Pellitine to the south, each with their own royal families and sub-cultures.
Elsweyr severed ties with the Empire and became an independent nation in the aftermath of the Oblivion Crisis, leading to decades of civil unrest and political upheaval through the province. Several years before the Great War, the moons disappeared from the night sky in a phenomenon that would be later known as the 'Void Nights', which would drive the Khajiiti people into a panic. When the moons returned two years later, the Thalmor claimed responsibility and took advantage of the Khajiit's gratitude to launch a coup, dismantle the Elsweyr Confederacy, and pull the two Kingdoms into the Dominion as client states. Today, Khajiiti soldiers make up a major part of the Dominion Army, multiple Clans are pledged to the alliance, and even the current Mane is vocal supporter of the Thalmor.
Magic
Akaviri Elemental Magic: The far eastern Continent of Akavir and its people remain a mystery to Tamriel, even after multiple invasions and a second Empire ruled by a foreign Potentate. Over the past four thousand years, Akaviri weapons, armor, and battle techniques have been adopted and put to use by multiple groups, such as the Fighters Guild and the Dragonguard. What has been more difficult to study and adapt are the Akaviri arts of elemental manipulation, referred to in translated texts and training manuals as 'bending'. Some stories of the Dragonguard speak not only of skilled warriors, but also their magic ability to manipulate the world around them, using abilities referred to as 'Airbending', 'Waterbending', 'Earthbending', and 'Firebending'. Centuries after the pureblood Akaviri presence in Tamriel has faded away, these abilities have been studied as practitioners appeared among every species of human, elf, and betmer across the land.
While everyone in Tamriel is born with the potential to harness and manipulate magic energy inside their bodies, the ability to 'bend' the elements appears to an inborn talent rather than something that can be acquired. On one hand, the six Schools of Magic can be accessed by anyone and provide greater ease and versatility by comparison; but on the other hand, elemental bending has a much more innate connection to nature magic and provides access to techniques that could outmatch all but the most powerful mages in some fields. The problem is that since it's a power one must be born with, actual study and development of the techniques is much slower than other arcane studies, leading to fewer real practitioners. There are some cases where bending has been incorporated into a culture in Tamriel, but these are few and far between.
- Among the Nords: The most common elements seen among the Nords are Earthbending and Airbending. The former is little surprise given the uncompromising spirit exhibited by most Nords, but the latter is difficult to understand at first. What people tend to forget is that the Nords are more spiritually sensitive than they're given credit for, to say nothing of their connection to Kynareth, the goddess of Nature. The superstitious, anti-magic nature of Nordic culture leads to many who have been gifted with them disregarding their abilities, often forsaking it as a dark secret or a curse in the worst cases.
- Among the Imperials: The Imperials have had more contact with the Akaviri then any other race in Tamriel, and it shows their mastery of both firebending and waterbending. Basic training is offered at the Fighters Guildhalls throughout the land, and the Legion offers more advanced training if a recruit shows aptitude for one of the bending arts. Some of the finest Battlemages and Healers in the Empire have gone through these training methods, even if they don't know about the akaviri influence on the techniques they use.
- Among the Bretons: The elements exhibited by most Bretons appear to be Airbending and Waterbending, speaking to their Elven ancestry and past connections to nature magic. Throughout the four Kingdoms, many healers and battlemages are trained in Waterbending, while Airbending is commonly used by Nightblades and Acrobats for covert operations and assassinations. This is not the case among the Beldama Wyrd Coven of Glenumbra however, where both arts are embraced as connections to the natural world, rather than tools of war and subterfuge.
- Among the Redguards: The tenacity and iron will of the Redguards is exemplified in many ways, including the bending arts they have access to: Earthbending and Firebending. Sadly, the natural stigma against magic in Hammerfell applies to bending as well, leading to these abilities being seen as a curse or a danger by many Redguards, much like in Skyrim. However, several stories of great warriors contain references to bending, such as the battle between Makala Leki, the Saint of the Spirit Sword, and the rogue Sword-Singer Rada al-Saran.
-Among the Altmer: Unlike Humans, the Elven races typically display an affinity for one element, while the other three are rare but not unheard of. In the case of the Altmer, their primary element is water, which turns the seas around the Summerset Isles into one of their greatest assets. Waterbending is common throughout the Isles, as the Altmer embrace it as much as any other form of non-Daedric magic, utilizing it in daily life and always studying the art. There are also stories of the Thalmor interrogating prisoners with waterbending techniques in Dominion prisons, turning the art that can heal into an implement of torture.
-Among the Bosmer: There are times when the Bosmer have more in common with animals in terms of tactics and mannerisms than other elves, which lends itself to their affinity with airbending. While their Air Nomad counterparts would blanch at the idea of an all-meat diet, bosmeri airbenders see their power as a reward for their family's devotion to the Green Pact, a true connection to nature. Some bosmer archers utilize techniques to enhance their arrows' speed with gusts of wind, a practice commonly seen among the Vinedusk Rangers in service to the Camoran throne and the Green Lady.
-Among the Dunmer: The Dunmer have been shaped by the fires of their homeland to the point that it's become a part of their souls, fueling their magic and making them predisposed to firebending. Given this power's destructive capabilities, it's commonly practiced among guards, soldiers and sometimes blacksmiths who use precise applications of flame in their metalworking. This has grown more common among House Redoran in the years since the Fall of the Tribunal and the Red Year; stories are still told of Redoran battlemages raising a wall of flame to stop the Argonian invasion in its tracks.
-Among the Orsimer: Orc culture under the Code of Malacath requires its people to be strong and uncompromising, which fits perfectly with their affinity for earthbending. The techniques are primarily used by miners in their efforts to winnow metals from mountains, but it's not uncommon to see Orc warriors using them in combat, especially in Orsinium. The most well-known Orc earthbenders are from Clan Tumnosh in Wrothgar, a clan of miners who carved out a mountain for the original Orsinium, and have supplied stone for every iteration since.
-Among the Argonians: Most Argonians are primarily either Waterbenders or Earthbenders, and both skills are useful in Black Marsh, a land carved by rivers and filled with mud. The techniques are practiced among almost every tribe in some form, but the most skilled waterbenders come from the Water-Lily village, a tribe with strong ties to the An-Xileel leadership. After the Oblivion Crisis and the Red Year, tales were told of Argonians turning the land itself into a weapon against their enemies, mortal or Daedric.
-Among the Khajiit: The Khajiit are known for their grace and ferocity in equal measure, examplified by their dual affinity for airbending and firebending. Temples called adeptoriums are found throughout Elsweyr, where Khajiit train in these techniques for a variety of purposes ranging from religious contemplation to assassination. In all of Tamriel, the Khajiit are the only race who can say they have really improved on the instruction left behind by the Akaviri, to the point that most people credit bending techniques to them instead.
Finally got this updated! One down, four more chapters to go! I may move these entries to later chapters when members of the actual races appear, but I'm not sure yet.
Please read and review! Constructive criticism only!