Disclaimer: Victor and Laura S. Arseid, along with Emma Millstein, belong to Falcom.
Silver Soul, Dragon's Heart
by Storm Wolf77415, Wing Commander White Wolf, and Centurious the Azure
Unbound Companions
It had been three days since departing the camp. Erik decided it was as good a time as any to get some sleep. He was awakened by the sound of the wheels of the wagon pounding against the road. A part of him was still finding it hard to believe he was sharing a wagon with Ulfric Stormcloak and Galmar Stone-Fist themselves. He wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not. The Jarl of Eastmarch had a heavy gag over his mouth, Erik recalled that the man knew the Thu'um, so it was a precaution from Ulfric releasing the power of his voice. Another Stormcloak soldier was in the wagon as well.
"So, you're finally awake huh?" The soldier in question asked. "How did you end up here with us, friend? The three of us were caught up in an Imperial ambush. You joined up with us when we stopped in that camp."
Although the one thing that made his day was the fact the damned horse thief that nearly ran him off the road was also in the wagon with them! Clearly, the Divines had a wicked sense of humor for this to happen. Erik couldn't help but feel smug at seeing the guy in the same tattered prisoner attire he currently wore. The poor guy seemed about ready to crack if the way his eyes kept darting about was any indication.
"You can thank this chucklehead!" Erik indicated to the thief, figuring he'd get his blows in when he could. "I was just minding my own business, coming back to my home of Skyrim after six years in Cyrodil as a mercenary when I nearly got ran off the road by this horse thief. The Imperials grabbed me along with him." He looked at the driver. "I'd like to go on record and say this is profiling of the worst kind!"
"Shut up back there!" the legionnaire shot back. Erik subtly flipped the bird at him. The other Stormcloaks all thought it was mildly amusing if the way Galmar and the other soldier smirked was any indication.
"We're all brothers in bonds now, thief." The soldier said.
"I'm sorry! I was trying to escape!" The thief protested, before turning a hateful glare to the Stormcloaks. "You just had to stir things up, didn't you? If it wasn't for you and your damn revolution, Skyrim was just fine the way it was. The Empire was getting lazy. I would have gotten away with it too if you hadn't hampered my progress. I could have made it to Hammerfell by now. What's up with him, huh?" He indicated to Ulfric, just sitting there with the gag on his face.
"Watch your tongue you milk-drinking whelp! You're in the presence of the one true High King of Skyrim!" Galmar berated the thief, who promptly shrunk back at the imposing right hand of the Stormcloak Rebellion. The man in question then looked to Ulfric, who just gave him a stoic glare through the gag. He then looked back to Galmar, giving him a vicious sneering grin. And the horse thief finally put it all together. The poor guy was about to shit himself.
"By the Divines! You're Ulfric Stormcloak and Galmar Stone-Fist! The heads of the rebellion itself." The thief exclaimed, wanting nothing more than to get out of that damn wagon at that moment. The thief then looked at Erik. "Hey, we don't belong here, you and I! We're not a part of this! Let me out!" The thief was panicking now, clearly realizing just how deep he had stepped into it.
"Congratulations, you can deduce your way out of a wet paper bag. It was a real thick one too!" Erik snarked, he may have been bereft of his weapons and armor, but his tongue was still razor sharp. "And as much as I hate to say it, we're involved with it now whether we like it or not. So bend over and pucker up. Cause I have a feeling we're going to be meeting the honored dead real soon!"
Galmar sniggered at Erik's comment. "Ha! You've got attitude! I like that. You have a name, stranger?"
"Erik Stormfire. It's actually kind of funny meeting you and your boss here. Because I call Windhelm home." Galmar gave a sympathetic nod, as did the other Nord wearing Stormcloak armor. "Wasn't expecting to come back to this whole mess. Certainly not the homecoming I was expecting to be sure. I really wasn't expecting to be going straight to Sovengarde. I hoped to have a couple more years before facing down Shor."
"Unfortunate to be sure, friend. But at least you're facing your death with some dignity." Galmar said, looking at the panicking horse thief with a glower. "You, get a hold of yourself!" His growling stopped the thief's blubbering. Although, he still cowered and sniveled in silence. There would be no dignity here. He had the Stormcloak general's full attention. "What's your name and where are you from?"
"W-why does that matter?" The thief managed to stammer.
"A Nord's final moments should be of home." The other Stormcloak said, staring off into the great distance in deep meditation. There was only peace, and acceptance. This seemed to calm the other man.
"Lokvir, I'm from, I'm from Rorikstead." He finally said. "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh, Talos, please Divines above, help me out of this mess!" Erik just shook his head, clearly the poor horse thief still held onto some hope that he could get out of this alive.
"Ralof, hailing from Riverwood." The low-ranking soldier said, before glancing at his commander and lord. He bowed his head in reverence to the men. "General Stone-Fist, Lord Ulfric, I'm sorry I couldn't have done more to keep us from being captured. I feel unworthy to be in your service."
"We don't hold it against you, Ralof. You were always a model soldier." Galmar said fondly of the younger man. "If I had a dozen more guys like you. We have would have won this fight a long time ago. I'm sure Lord Ulfric would have promoted you a few times over by now. You'd make a fine general." The gagged Jarl nodded his assent. "See, even his Jarlship gives his seal of approval."
"You both flatter me, sir," Ralof said, bowing his head deeper still respectfully. Erik said nothing, noting that even if the Stormcloaks were misguided, moments like this showed there were decent sorts on both sides of the equation. The wagon continued trundling through the roads of Skyrim. It wasn't long before Erik realized they were going.
"Helgen Village." He remarked, noting the sign along the road. "Been a while since I've been here." It wasn't long before they entered the main gate. It was then they passed through the village gate. Erik's eyes narrowed slightly when he saw a man in ornate Imperial armor on horseback. "General Tullius, the military governor of Skyrim." His eyes narrowed even more, and a sneer formed on his face when he saw who else was present. "And the Thalmor!"
"Elenwen, the Aldmeri ambassador to Skyrim herself," Ralof noted with equal disgust. "Damn high elves, I bet they had something to do with this." His anger gave way to weariness. He gave a fond if tired smile. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. There's a nice little distillery here run by this guy I know named Vilod, not on the same level as Honigbrew or Blackbriar, but he would mix in juniper berries with his mead, it was their specialty. I wonder if he's still brewing that stuff. It's funny, I always thought Imperial walls and towers made me feel safe as a boy. How the times change."
It was then the wagon came to a stop, finally. There was no more remembrance, only facing the coming grimness. "What's going on?" Lokvir stammered, looking around in panic. The soldiers began ushering the prisoners out of the wagons. They were not gentle in the slightest as they were pulled off the wagon one by one. They were simply just meat, criminals that were less than human in the eyes of society.
"It should be pretty obvious. We've made it to the end of the line." Ralof stepped down, his head held high and defiant. He was accepting of fate. Dignified, even. "We can't keep the gods waiting."
Galmar grunted, stamping his foot once. He bore his teeth at the imperial guards in a nasty sneer. "Yeah, before long we will have passed into the great realm of Sovengarde and make our way to the Hall of Valor. Shor himself will welcome us with open arms and be reunited with our great ancestors."
The horse thief did not share the other men's enthusiasm for their imminent deaths. "No! Wait! We're not rebels!" The panic was growing in Lokvir's voice as he begged for his life. His whining grated on Erik's voice. The mercenary would have slugged him, if not for the heavy rope binding his hands, but he could easily choke him out if he had the chance.
"Face your death with some courage, thief. Shor may yet show some favor upon you." Ralof wasn't impressed by Lokvir's blubbering either. The man shook his head in pity. It was sad to see a Nord sink to such depths as thievery. It was even worse when they had no dignity in the face of death. While he wanted to blame the Empire for this, he knew that this was just plain human nature at work. The Divines made you as you were, and not everyone could find the courage to work up all the time.
"You fear death so much, horse thief. If these milk-drinking Imperials were to cut me loose, I would send you there myself!" No one doubted Galmar could back his claim up, but it just further agitated Lokvir. He looked for any kind of support, but only found contempt from his fellow Nordic prisoners, and stoic indifference from the Imperial soldiers forcing him out of the wagon. They were all lined up as a ranking female Imperial Captain in heavy armor came forward with an officer in light armor holding a clipboard.
"Step towards the block when we call your name." The captain simply looked on, bored to tears. "One at a time." For the captain, this was just another day at the office, these mongrels were nothing but trash to be tossed out. It was their own choice to oppose the Septim Empire, and now they were going to reap the consequences of that choice! "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm, Galmar Stone-Fist of Windhelm, Ralof of Riverwood, Lokvir of Rorikstead."
"The Empire loves their damn lists." Ralof let out a snort that almost resembled a disdainful laugh. Lokvir was a total wreck, his entire body shaking in fear at the sound of his name. He was beginning with the tears, snot running down his nose. Erik just rolled his eyes. A part of him wondered if the horse thief was going to piss or shit himself first. Probably both, he thought ironically. Sniffing the now pungent air.
"No! No! I'm not a rebel!" Lokvir protested, finally having enough of this. He quickly ran down the street. "You can't do this!" He broke into a run, clomping down the path with all the grace of a wounded swine. "You're not going to kill me!" It would have been almost comical with the way his hands were bound in front of him. The guards were telling him to stop, but he wasn't going to listen. The captain ordered the archers, and a flurry of arrows ended the suffering of Lokvir of Rorikstead. One arrow caught him in the knee while two more got him in the back, and a fourth got him square in the back of the head. Erik had to admit the Imperial archers had good aim. He had seen it back in Cyrodil whenever he took a contract from the government.
"Anyone feel like running?" The captain asked blandly, sniffing at the man's futile effort.
It was then Erik caught sight of Hadvar. "You there, step forward." He proclaimed.
With little recourse Erik walked up, giving the legionnaire an annoyed glare. "Erik Stormfire, from Windhelm, and also not a Stormcloak." He put a special emphasis on that. Erik wasn't happy with his circumstances, but he wasn't about to shuffle out of Mundus without a good mouth load of sass! "I had been down south in Cyrodil the past six years working as a mercenary. I come home and get tangled up with the horse thief and now look at where I'm at! Let me just say this is one Oblivion of a welcome I got! Really showing that Imperial charm, pal!"
Hadvar visibly winced at the plight of his fellow Nord. "You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman. I'm sorry to say that. At least you'll die here, in your homeland."
"Oh, that makes things so much better," Erik said disdainfully, taking note of the executioner, slipping the dark hood off his face, and the heavy iron battleaxe that would be used to carry out his gruesome deed. "I hope he sharpened that thing; I want a nice clean cut when you put my head on that pike, and he better have washed it as well. It's probably crawling with disease, don't want my head decaying any faster than needed." In truth, Erik was terrified, and his sarcasm was how he coped. It was something Hadvar had picked up on.
"Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list." The soldier indicated to Erik. If this was just a huge mixup, then perhaps this man could go free. Erik hoped it would be the case. Unfortunately, the Divines were never so generous unless it actually mattered. Erik thought he should have maybe tried at the Daedra instead. Regretfully, he wouldn't have the chance to right that wrongly placed bet.
"Eh, forget the list. He goes to the block." The captain could have cared less. But at that moment, Hadvar gave Erik something he hadn't received in a while, pure empathy. Erik wasn't so stubborn not to see how Hadvar looked at him.
"I'm sorry." He whispered to him before his voice turned all business. "By your orders, Captain. Follow the Captain, Prisoner." His voice lowered again so only Erik could hear as he passed. "And may the Divines spirit you quickly to Sovengarde. You deserved better." Erik just gave a slight nod as he stood in line while another captured Stormcloak soldier approached the executioner. Erik wasn't sure if he agreed with what Ulfric wanted, but at least he could see they were all willing to go out with dignity.
General Tullius walked up, accompanied by a Priestess from the local temple of Arkay. The governor of Skyrim cut an imposing figure in his golden Imperial Legion armor, and despite the graying of his hair, the thick cords of muscle revealed beneath his bare arms were a none-too-subtle reminder of his strength. The man had seen his fair share of battles if the faint scars he bore on his visible skin were any indication. Tullius approached the disgraced Jarl, a look of disdain on his visage. "Ulfric Stormcloak, some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." To which Ulfric just grunted, glaring defiantly at the general. Something Tullius returned in gladness. There was no love lost between these leading men of rival forces. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace."
Out in the distance, a sound could hear, a deep, guttural roar that echoed across the mountaintops and roofs of Helgen village. Erik didn't know why, perhaps it was his senses honed by years of acting as a sword for hire across the continent, or maybe it was something deeper, but he felt that roar intently. The way other people were reacting showed he wasn't hallucinating. Hadvar was looking skyward nervously. "What was that, General?" He asked, worriedly looking skyward. He started noticing the gathering of overcast clouds. An omen if any, Erik believed.
"It's probably nothing, son. Carry on." Despite his normal professionalism, Tullius was looking skyward as well. Even if it was nothing. His senses were on full guard now. All those years sitting behind a desk had done nothing to diminish his instincts.
"Yes, General Tullius." The Captain proclaimed as the first soldier to be executed approached the block. She looked to the priestess, dryly saying to the holy woman. "Give them their last rites." The priestess went through the complicated ritual, made to give comfort to the soon-to-be executed. Erik cracked a smirk at how the Stormcloak soldier wasn't having it as he knelt down.
"My ancestors are smiling on me, Imperials." The nameless soldier spat out, glaring with hatred at the captain and executioner, as the latter raised the heavy implement of his demise. "Can you say the same?" With unblinking eyes, the axe came down, and the Stormcloak's head was severed from his shoulders, it bounced across the dirt, as the captain shoved the lifeless body off the chopping block. This wasn't execution. This was a butchering meant to feed the pigs, and carrion birds of the north.
Erik doubted the man would even get a proper burial or even a ritual cremation. That's how little the empire cared for them.
Several people howled for and against the Empire, but the soldiers were undeterred, and the prisoners said nothing either. All in all, the gathering crowd was a bunch of stupid rubberneckers. All craving blood, the spectacle of death. It was a sick comedy to them regardless of who they supported, Erik thought in silent disdain. He hoped they all rotted in grisly, dark, chill Coldharbour after their deaths.
They would let their actions speak for themselves. "As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof remarked in grim approval, both Galmar and Ulfric bowed their heads in silence, praying to Talos that he would quickly find his way to Sovengarde, they would all soon be joining him. The Captain looked right at Erik; he knew his time had come.
"Next, the Nord in the rags!" Erik quietly resigned himself to his fate. He walked over to the block, and knelt down, laying his head against the blood-stained wood. Perhaps what Hadvar said was true. At least he would die on his own native soil. It was probably the sole comfort he would get. It was then he heard it again, that damnable roar, this time it was louder and clearer. Almost as if it were getting closer!
He craned his neck and there it was, an abomination against the golden sky. He looked on agape in cold, abject horror. Flapping huge leathery wings, covered in scales black as the night itself. A horned crest rose over a pair of eyes, blazing red in unconfined anger. It landed on top of Helgen's keep. Erik could only gaze at those flaming orbs. He could only think of one thing to say in that moment. "Fuck!" Instincts and training kicked in as he rolled away from the block to avoid being barbecued by intense flames erupting from the dragon's mouth. The giant creature roared again, and the skies darkened, clouds forming immediately as flaming rocks crashed from the sky.
It was as if the fabric of Mundus itself had been ripped asunder. Pandemonium ensued as people screamed and tried to get away from the meteors slamming into Helgen. The massive beast used the panic as it flapped its massive wings and crashed down into the village proper, breathing out flaming death to all around him. Tullius was already barking orders at the archers and battlemages, as arrows and spells arced through the air, but the metal-tipped projectiles were little more than pinpricks against the scales the same color as the darkest shadow.
The magically conjured flames, ice spikes, and bolts of lightning merely splashed off the beast's carapace. It roared defiantly, lashing out to grab the captain in its mighty jaws, thrashing back and forth before sending the now dead Imperial commander's body flying into the wall. Hadvar winced at the sickening crack of bones splintering into dust, and the bloody trail left as his former commanding officer's corpse slid to the ground.
Erik lay there, stunned by the force of the dragon's roar. He then felt someone grab him by the arm and force him to his feet. "Get up, kinsman!" He found himself eye to eye with Ralof, who had somehow managed to cut himself free. "Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!" He wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. "Follow me!" So, Erik followed Ralof, grimacing as he tried to free himself from his bonds, but the rope was strong and the knots were secure. Erik nearly became Sovngarde's latest resident when a piece of rubble fell on him just a couple of inches from him.
The two men ran into the nearby watch tower. Ulfric and Galmar were present with a couple more Stormcloaks. "Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing?" Ralof asked his Jarl nervously, as Galmar stood at the door, watching the black dragon continue to decimate everything around it. "Could the legends be true?" Without the gag covering his mouth, Erik had to admit that the Jarl of Eastmarch certainly cut an intimidating figure.
"Legends don't burn down villages." That simple five-word statement sent chills down Erik's spine. Ulfric's deep baritone resonated with his men. Ralof went to check on one of the Stormcloak soldiers, clutching her stomach as she curled up in a ball, clearly traumatized by the arrival of the dragon and the brutality of the attack. Another winced as he dealt with blood coming from his arm. "We need to move now!" Ulfric barked to his men. "We will die if we stay here."
"Up through the tower, let's go!" Ralof said.
"Move it! Move it!" Galmar's words echoed in Erik's head as he raced up the stairs. He needed no further prompting to be sure. However, he didn't get as far as he would have liked due to the giant pile of rubble blocking the steps. A few Stormcloaks were frantically picking away at the rocks to free the path. The entire wall exploded, nearly knocking Erik off his feet. His eyes widened in sheer terror as the dragon stood there, sending a massive jet of fire that caught the soldiers on the landing. The screams of agony as they were literally melted would ring in his mind forever more after that.
Ralof came up beside him. "His Jarlship and General Stone-Fist are going by another route and try to get back to Windhelm." The two Nords looked through the gap in the wall. "See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going!" Taking a breath, Erik made his leap of faith, praying to all the Divines he didn't get incinerated, by the flames or the dragon, and managed to land safely in a roll on the second floor of the inn, half its roof caved in. He hopped down to the ground floor and heard the voice of Hadvar.
He stood with a couple of his fellow Legionnaires, as the obsidian-colored beast hovered down, crawling on its wings. "Gods, everyone get back!" He ordered, jumping away from the jet of flame emanating from the creature's mouth. Just for a second, Erik locked eyes with the creature and he felt something. He didn't know what it was, and it lasted for a fleeting second, but there was some kind of familiarity. As if he knew who this dragon was.
A single word slipped out of Erik's mouth. "Alduin." He said in terrified awe, watching as the beast leapt into the air, roaring once before it took off, circling around as it flapped its black leathery wings. He was sick with sheer terror, frozen in place in a frozen tableau. Just how was something like this possible in all the realms of Nirn?Hadvar caught sight of Erik, grabbing the other Nord by the arm. This awoke Erik from his panicked, fearful reverie. That was right, survival was absolutely an option.
"Still alive, prisoner? If you want to stay alive, then stick close to me." Since Erik had lost track of Ralof, he decided one was as good as the other. "Stay close to the wall, stick to the shadows." He ordered, lightly smacking the wall with his fist. They crouched in a narrow alley between two buildings. When the dragon appeared again, popping over the roof to deliver more fiery death. Being so close, Erik could hear the creature clearly as it spoke three words. "Yol, Toor, Shul!" The words resonated with him as the dragon's leathery wings were inches from his face.
He could feel the great wyrm's rotten, revoltingly warm breath on his skin. Those scales were black as death itself. Not even the best made Daedric armor could compare to the carapace of this beast. It just made Erik's skin crawl to think this revolting creature existed. He felt only fear, hatred, and disgust for this monster. If he could, he'd rip the very scales from its body, and kill this thing with it.
The dragon again went into the sky, and the men continued their escape through the burning streets. The bodies of the denizens were strewn about; Erik said a quiet prayer for every one of them. A squad of Imperial soldiers was holding their ground. Archers still launching arrows and mages hurling their spells into the sky, trying to keep the dragon's attention on them. They ran around a corner and saw Ralof, now wielding a simple Iron Axe. "Ralof! You damned traitor! Get out of my way!" Hadvar snarled, bearing his weapon at them. Erik felt himself torn, both men had been helpful to him. He wasn't sure whom to support, not that he could do much good tied up still.
"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time!" Ralof shot back.
"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovengarde." Hadvar wouldn't shed any tears if that monster landed on them in that moment. The dragon's roar brought the argument to a halt. "Fine then, into the keep!" Erik followed Hadvar, just wanting to get out of this nightmare. The Imperial soldier threw open the door and Erik ran in. The heavy wooden door was shut behind them, but it didn't mean he was about to sit down and break out the mead. The sounds of the fighting were muffled, but still evident to him. He looked around and saw what appeared to be the local barracks.
"Hey," Hadvar called out. Erik tensed, wondering if he was just going to save the executioner the trouble and finish him right there. "Hold out your hands." He produced a small knife and cut the ropes, and now Erik was unbound.
"Won't you get in trouble for releasing a prisoner?" Erik asked, rubbing his wrists. He saw the rope burn on his wrists, scowling deeply. He thought the empire could go to hell after this. Still, he believed Hadvar could stay. He got a pass since he was being helpful.
"Consider yourself pardoned for the moment," Hadvar replied lightly. Erik didn't like the caveat "for the moment" one bit. "If we're going to get out of this place in one piece. We need to stick together, and you can't do much all tied up now, can you? First order of business is getting you outfitted." He went to one of the chests at the foot of the bed, producing a bundle of clothing identical to his own, tossing it to Erik. "I hope you don't mind standard Imperial issue until we can get to the next town, it's all we've got."
Erik took in the red and brown garment. He wasn't too keen on it, but it was better than the tattered rags he had on a moment. He quickly changed into the Imperial armor, minus the helmet. He had procured a steel sword and an iron dagger to use. "Okay then, what now?" He asked Hadvar.
"There's a passageway in the basement of the keep. It leads to a tunnel out of the village. We can use that to make our getaway. We'll pick up any supplies we can on the way." The room shook at the sound of the dragon's roar shook the room. Debris from above dusted the entire room, making a soft thud on the floor. Erik thought of how he was gonna ask for a beer, and a lady for a little personal company at an inn when he bathed at the inn. That was if he survived, a voice in the back of his head reminded him vigilantly. "Looks like we're leaving none too soon."
The former mercenary shuddered a little as the ceiling shook, wondering just how much devastation the beast was causing at that moment, or how many bodies would be stacked up like cordwood. "Tell me about it. I'm not sure which way of checking out would have been worse. The axe or the dragon." Erik deadpanned. Hadvar chortled a little and they departed for the basement.
(Whiterun, One Day After Dragon Attack on Helgen)
It had been an uneventful few days. Aside from hunting down a couple of bears and saber cats, there hadn't been any major contracts or jobs to take on. Jarl Balgruuf had asked Sebastian to assist Caius in training the Whiterun Guard. His exploits at Ford Greymoor had spread quickly through the ranks and it had boosted morale some. Laura even pitched in, the guards welcoming the experience of the Radiant Blademaster's daughter. But today everyone was taking it slow. Sebastian and Laura were sparring while Emma and Laura were looking on.
The bespectacled mage had quickly grown close with Phoebe due to their shared study of magic. Not to mention both of them have a very shy demeanor and an interest in Sebastian that they just couldn't explain entirely. "He is quite impressive, don't you think?" Emma asked lightly, watching the Witcher weave about the Arseid heiress's power strikes, ducking under Brynhildr and meeting it with his steel blade. The two strained, both evenly matched. "I may not be an expert on swordsmanship. But I can tell Sebastian's style is very unique. He moves like a wolf."
"He did mention it was built on speed and agility over power. It's the total opposite to schools like the Vander and my own family's." Phoebe said admiringly, she felt her cheeks heat up a little when he threw her a glance and smirked slightly before backhanding the massive claymore. "And yes, he is quite impressive." She recalled when he held her hand earlier. "Tell me, Emma. When you held his hand, did you feel a tingling sensation throughout your body?"
"Uh." Emma started timidly flushing herself, remembering when she had reached to touch Sebastian's pendant, her fingers had brushed against his chest. "Maybe, just a little bit. Why do you ask?"
"Apparently, it's something that happens between Witchers and female mages. Physical contact produces a very pleasurable feeling in them, and they can't get enough of it." Phoebe looked to her fellow mage, sweat rolling down her cheek. "Um…" She hesitated for a long moment, avoiding Emma's gaze, Pperhaps this is something better discussed when certain parties aren't in earshot?" They looked to where Sebastian and Laura had finished their duel to take a short break. Both were breathing heavily and covered in sweat. Both mage girls found their faces getting warm at the sight of Sebastian like that. Trying to hide her feelings, Phoebe produced a pair of water glasses.
"Thank you." Sebastian rasped, taking the glass without a trace of second thoughts. He threw it back with a series of loud glugs, downing it all in one try. He relished the cool fluid on his tongue and throat. He sat down at the picnic table with the girls. "That was a pretty good session. But I wouldn't mind some fresh opponents. Nothing against you, Laura." He wore an apologetic grin, bringing up his hand in an accompanying gesture. "You are naturally gifted with the blade, and you take your training very seriously. I'd just like to be able to fight someone else."
"Then perhaps we can help in that regard?" Everyone turned to the source of the deep, heavily accented voice. Sebastian sized up the new arrivals. A pair of burly men clad in heavy armor. The armor was worn by the man who had spoken really caught his eye. It had large shoulder guards and fur wrapping around the lower part. It was stylized with the markings of the wolf. Something that Sebastian silently approved of. The man had a steel sword sheathed at his side. "My name is Vilkas, this guy right here is my twin brother, Farkas." He indicated the other similar looked man, speaking further in his accented gravelly voice. "We're with the Companions, the local fighter's guild here in Skyrim."
The other man wearing basic steel armor and carrying a large steel greatsword on his back nodded in strong affirmation. "If there's a job that requires muscle and a strong sword arm, we're your guys." The man named Farkas crossed his arms, his voice was equally deep. Sebastian blinked slowly, thinking these guys were too similar. He guessed the gods were pressed and decided to copy, and paste them when they were created. The gods had a funny way of screwing up sometimes. "Word on the street is there's a hotshot new blade in town. Carries two swords and helped clear out a bunch of thugs at Fort Greymoor. Not to mention putting a certain bald-headed busybody in his place. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that now, would you?" Sebastian didn't need enhanced senses to know Farkas was looking right at him. So, he stepped forward, his stride quiet, but confident.
"I suppose I can shed some light on that." He looked both men in the eye, he narrowed his gaze on the men in challenge. The skin around the twins' eyes tightened in response. "Jarl Balgruuf did request some extra aid in clearing out the fort. As for putting Nazeem in his place." Sebastian smirked a little, deciding to go in to amusing them to lighten the tension. "Let's just say that was a product of very good timing and a witty retort. I imagine he uses that whole 'do you get to the Cloud District often' line at every chance he can. It just helped I actually had come from speaking to the Jarl. The look on his face was priceless!" The twins looked to each other, nodded and mirrored Sebastian's expression. Where there had been slight tension was now sheer amusement.
"Ha! It's a shame we missed it then." Farkas replied with a resounding laugh, clearly wishing he could have front-row seats to seeing Whiterun's biggest nuisance get the wind taken out of his sails. "That alone warrants us buying you a drink. Honestly, Nazeem was getting way too full of himself for our tastes. You saved us a bit of trouble; friend and we wouldn't have been half as nice."
"Oh, I'm sure plenty of opportunities to humble Nazeem will come your way. He strikes me as being the type who doesn't get the lesson on the first try." Sebastian held out his hand. "I'm sorry, I haven't properly introduced myself. My name is Sebastian Connor, I'm a Witcher of the Wolf School, and I hail from a very distant land. I had a rather rough journey here and I've been trying to find my feet here in Skyrim."
"A Witcher huh?" Vilkas said curiously, taking the offered hand. Both warriors noted the other's very strong grip. "Not sure what that means, but if you're looking for someone to fight with, then my brother and I would be more than willing to cross swords with you." Sebastian could tell both were seasoned warriors, very practiced with their weapons of choice. For a moment he thought of two other men, one in red with dark hair, and the other all in black. He thought of Eskel and Lambert, two of his fellow Witchers, and wondered what they were doing at that moment.
Sebastian was quick to snap back to the present. These guys were offering to give him a fight and that was good enough. His vision fell to Laura and an idea came to him. "Okay then, how about we make this a little more interesting? How do you gentlemen feel about a two-on-two match? Hey Laura! Want to tag team?" The Arseid heiress would never turn down a challenge, striding over to the three swordsmen. She bowed graciously. "If you've heard about me, then I'm very certain you know who this is."
"Laura S. Arseid, the daughter of Victor S. Arseid, Viscount of Legram," Farkas said in a respectful tone, the two men bowing slightly. "The Radiant Blademaster is well known amongst the ranks of the Companions. It would be a great honor to have a match against you, Lady Laura."
"And I relish the chance to face any and all challengers," Laura spoke in her usual drawling regal tone. She brought up Brynhildr, even as Sebastian drew his own steel sword again. "We needn't exchange words any longer, we will let our swords do the talking from here on out." Vilkas and Farkas brandished their respective weapons. The thrill of a good battle was visible in both their eyes. All four nodded, and the battle commenced. Sebastian squared off with Vilkas, while Farkas and Laura both engaged, eager to show their prowess with the greatsword.
While a part of Sebastian debated using his Witcher Signs, he figured his opponent wouldn't take too kindly to being knocked off his feet by an Aard or having his mind clouded by Axii. Not to mention these guys seemed relatively friendly, so there was that too. So, it would be a battle of pure strength and skill alone. He was trained by one of the Wolf School's best after all. He and Farkas's blades strained against each other. The wolf-armored knight was first to break the deadlock before trying to swing upwards at the Witcher.
But Sebastian was just as quick. He sidestepped Vilkas's strike before bringing his own sword in a diagonal arc downwards. Vilkas moved with a speed that belied his beefy stature, parrying the wolf-headed sword, the edge of the steel blade neatly cutting through Sebastian's lower left sleeve. This earned Vilkas a kick to the chest. Even if Sebastian refrained from throwing out any signs, it didn't mean he wasn't going to use whatever was at his disposal.
The tip of the Witcher's blade carved a slight gouge across the Companion's chest plate, and the big Nord cocked back a fist, and Sebastian just barely had his jaw grazed by twisting his body to the left. The two swords cut through the air, meeting in the age-old dance of steel against steel. "Heh, I'll give you credit, Master Companion. You clearly know your way around a sword, which tells me you had a very good teacher." Sebastian said, ducking under Vilkas's swing, before meeting it with his own weapon. "Not to mention I love your armor!"
"Thank you, Master Witcher, all of our armor and weapons are forged by Eorland Gray-Mane. No finer blacksmith in all of Skyrim." Vilkas grunted as they soon locked blades again. "As for who trained me, I can take pride in being trained by Kodlak Whitemane, Harbinger of the Companions and one of the finest warriors Skyrim ever produced, both Farkas and I learned much from him!" They exchanged blows once more, their blades clanged resoundingly in answer. "And let me commend you as well, your swordcraft is some of the best I've ever seen." Vilkas didn't even flinch as Sebastian's blade left a small chink in his shoulder pauldron. "Your teacher clearly knew what he was doing as well."
The Witcher wore a prideful, shit eating grin. "Indeed, he did! I was trained by Mark Lamperouge, the Crimson Fox. One of the finest Witchers the Wolf School ever produced." A clanging of steel resonated in the air. "He's not just my master, he was my father figure as well. I wouldn't be who I am without the influence of him or his wife." Across the way Laura and Farkas's duel was just as intense. Despite her slighter build compared to her male counterparts, the daughter of the Radiant Blademaster handled the claymore with her normal poise and grace, using her greater agility to her advantage.
Farkas found himself surprised at how easily she could swing the giant blade around and yet still keep moving. But he knew the Arseid School's reputation well enough. Still, he wasn't about to let her show him up. The heavy steel blade caught the light of the sun as it met its blue counterpart. He flexed his arms, sending Laura to her knees, but she quickly recovered, rolling to one side when Farkas's greatsword made to hit her.
"The Radiant Blademaster's reputation is well known in the halls of Jorrvaskr. Master Kodlak always spoke highly of him." Farkas grunted, batting aside Brynhildr only for Laura to jump over the heavy weapon, flipping in midair and using the centrifugal force for a mighty downward swing, rending the very earth itself asunder. The Nord bruiser didn't hide his delight. This battle was getting fun! "I can clearly see you have your father's strength, Lady Laura. You should definitely consider joining the Companions someday."
"Why thank you! The guild sounds like an honorable group of warriors. I'm sure I could learn much from them." Laura grunted, spinning about in a circle creating a powerful wind, Farkas grunted as he found himself being drawn in. All he saw was a blur of white and blue as Laura jumped in the air, delivering a devastating downward slash. Farkas felt the ground shake under his feet, and he was thrown back into the dirt. His vision cleared and he found the tip of Brynhildr at his throat. "I believe this victory is mine?" She asked for affirmation, her harsh amber eyes on the man. They sought his utter capitulation. He just nodded slightly, gulping. Despite the intimidation the man felt, Laura had proven her worth and he had no regrets about losing.
Sebastian and Vilkas were still at it when they saw Farkas hit the dirt. "Looks your brother is out." The Witcher observed stoically to which his opponent merely shrugged.
"It's merely one loss. He's not going to lose any sleep over that, especially to an opponent like her." The respect for the Arseids was evident in his voice. "As Master of Arms for the Companions, I'm responsible for the training of all new recruits. I've seen many come through Jorrvaskr's doors with a wide degree of skill, and you definitely are among some of the best I've seen. I don't say that lightly." It was clear that Vilkas was resolute in his conviction. Sebastian just gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. Perhaps it was time to turn up the heat on this fight. Sebastian did a powerful jump strike, putting the whole of his arm strength behind the swing as he brought his blade down, but Vilkas grunted, planting his feet firm in the ground, and taking the impact dead on. The resulting impact created a small shockwave that could be heard all over town.
The battle had attracted a small crowd, and a big surprise Fianna was in the middle of it, struggling to see between the much taller Nordlings. The red-haired bard gave the two warriors a hungry eye as they continued exchanging blows. The fight was reaching its climax as how both men were striking. She saw Phoebe and Emma entranced by the battle. They were both in awe at how strong Sebastian was. "Wow, he really is good." The blue-haired mage gasped, her hands hiding her surprised expression. Emma nodded emphatically, not bothering to hide how enamored she was. Both women were blushing heavily and while they would never admit it, they found the way Sebastian fought kind of hot.
Fianna thought so as well, seeing the Witcher and Companion's blades clang against each other with such harmony. But her vision then fell on Emma, her heaving bosoms so enticing. She licked her lips and realized she could finally get what she wanted. Moving on quiet feet, she got up behind the mage girls, and promptly reached around to squeeze Emma's chest, causing her to squeal like a dying rabbit and jump five feet in the air. The shrill scream brought the fight to an abrupt end. As all attention fell on them.
"Fianna, what are you doing?" Laura asked confusedly, not sure what was going on. Despite being a master of the blade, she was still rather sheltered about some things.
"Damn it, Fianna!" Phoebe cried out, wishing she knew a teleportation spell at that moment to avoid embarrassment.
"Mm, so soft and firm all at the same time. You have good genes, Emmy!" Fianna said, not minding the purple-haired mage's flailing, it just made the moment all the sweeter!
"Ahh! Please stop!" Emma cried, her face bright red as her ample chest was moved about in Fianna's hands. Phoebe just sighed, facepalming. She knew better than to try and convince the horny bard to stop hitting on any beautiful woman she laid eyes on. Luckily a savior arrived, when Farkas grabbed Fianna by the collar of her shirt and pulled her away with a gentleness that belied his hulking figure, giving her a stern glare. But Fianna simply turned it back on the large Nord by smiling and winking at him. Farkas flinched a little, not used to such flirty tactics.
Vilkas wasn't sure what to make of the sight, apparently, he wasn't used to perverted bards going around feeling up female mages, but Sebastian simply groaned and sheathed his sword.
"Well, that killed my desire." He said bluntly, glancing sharply at the sheepish perverse bard. His expression became much less severe once it rested on Vilkas. "You want to finish this fight at another time when there's not so much drama going on around us?"
"Yes, I suppose we'll just have to call it a draw for now." Vilkas sheathed his own blade, watching Phoebe give Fianna an earful while Laura tended to Emma. "If you're not busy tonight, Master Witcher, We'd like to invite you to dinner at Jorrvaskr. Your friends are welcome as well. Just tell the redhead to keep her hands to herself. She tries that with any of our female members, she's likely to lose them very quickly."
"We all will ensure Fianna will be on her best behavior," Sebastian assured, curious to see what the Companions were like.
(Riverwood)
Erik and Hadvar had traveled for a day and a half from the shattered remains of Helgen, arriving in the small town of Riverwood. Hadvar's uncle, Alvor, the local blacksmith had been all too kind in opening his home to the young mercenary. Alvor radiated a paternal aura, giving Erik some basic lessons in his craft, something he was grateful for, since it meant he would be able to better care for his equipment in the field. Speaking of which, he now sported a brand-new set of steel armor, complimented by a shiny new steel greatsword.
He stood on the front porch, taking in the chill of the Skyrim morning. While many would shy away from it. For Erik, this was guaranteed to get him going. The young warrior's eyes looked up to the cloud-filled sky. Thoughts of Helgen were still fresh in his mind. "Legends don't burn down villages." He repeated Ulfric's words aloud. Upon telling Alvor about the dragon attack, he implored him to go to Whiterun to warn the Jarl. Erik had no problem doing this, but his mind was elsewhere. A part of him couldn't fathom why he felt such a tie to the ebony-colored beast.
Unlike many of his fellow Nords, Erik wasn't a total meathead, but he wasn't an academic either. There were still a lot of unanswered questions. "Good morning!" a melodic voice chimed behind him. He saw that Dorthe, Alvor's daughter, and Hadvar's young cousin, had come out of the house. "It's going to be another chilly day, isn't it?" She shivered, pulling her shawl around her shoulders. Erik smiled and gently patted her on the shoulder.
"Yeah, but I like this weather. It reminds of how I trained when I was your age. The cold helps build discipline, hardens the mind against doubt." He leaned in close to her. "How do you think your dad became such a great blacksmith? He probably worked the forge day in and day out and didn't pay the weather any mind. If you want to be the equal of your father, then you can't let such things dissuade you now, right?"
Dorthe giggled. "You're right!" There was nothing she wanted more than to be as great of a blacksmith as her father. She then became solemn. "I heard you were going to leave for Whiterun, so I have something for you." She reached into her pocket, producing a small circle of metal. Erik plucked it from her fingers, giving it a closer look. It had a dark gray sheen, and was highly polished, catching the light of the torch on the wall. "Well, what do you think?" She asked eagerly.
"Very nice, a ring of some kind?" She nodded at his query. Erik kept turning it over in his fingers, taking note of the glimmer of the metal. "It's a little on the heavy side. I'm guessing you made this of iron then?"
"Papa won't let me make swords or armor yet, but he lets me make iron fittings and nails. I wanted to try my hand at making jewelry, but since we don't have any silver or gold, I had to work with what I had. Still, I think it's pretty good for a first attempt. Consider it a reminder of your stay here in Riverwood." Dorthe looked very proud of herself. Erik patted her head on the head, and slid the ring onto his finger. "So does this mean you like it?"
He gave her a crooked smile. "Sure do. Thanks for the gift, little lady. I'll treasure it." He stepped off the porch. "Sad to say, I must depart, give my regards to your parents and let them know I'm grateful for their hospitality. I'll be sure to pass by through here as often as I can. I need to keep an eye on such a promising young blacksmith now, don't I?" Dorthe waved to Erik, and he began the long trip to Whiterun. He didn't get very far when he felt someone watching him. Looking over his shoulder, all he saw was Delphine, the proprietor of the local inn, sweeping the front porch.
"I must still be on edge from Helgen." Erik reflected, before swiftly departing the town. But he wouldn't forget the people's kindness. While he was a hardened warrior, it didn't mean his heart was made entirely of stone. The weight of Dorthe's gift reminded him of his mission. Despite his return to Skyrim getting off to a rocky start, he wasn't about to let this second chance go to waste.
(Whiterun)
The Jorrvaskr Mead Hall had a lot of history. Originally a longboat made to carry some of Ysgramor's Five Hundred Companions. The crew of the ship settled in the area where they found the strange structure known as the Skyforge. The ship would become the roof of the mead hall they would build. Inside, Sebastian and the girls were greeted with several tables, creaking at the weight of the food laid out. A fire pit was in the middle with a pig being roasted on an open spit. "Oh yeah!" Fianna said appreciatively. "It looks like we've got a party going on here!"
"It would be an even larger party if you had brought your cohorts along with you," Sebastian remembered the party at the Bannered Mare. "I'm sure they'd make you clean up whatever mess you made," Sebastian remarked. While he liked a good bash as much as the next Witcher, he got the feeling the Scattered Feathers were really into the party scene and always went overboard whenever they could. A part of him wondered how she'd get along with Dandelion.
"There's always a reason to feast at Jorrvaskr!" A woman with light brown hair approached them. The dark warpaint adorning her face brought out the fierceness in her eyes. "Here in our sacred halls, we drink to the glory we bring in battle, and the unity we share as members of the Companions." Her armor was mostly leather with metal shoulder pauldrons. "I am Aela the Huntress, a member of the Circle. You're the ones who fought the twins earlier correct?"
"Very much so. I am Sebastian Connor, and this is Laura S. Arseid. Her cousin, Phoebe Spring-Rain, Emma Millstein, a visiting mage from Cyrodil, and Fianna Redblaze, a traveling bard. We're grateful for the invitation."
Aela folded her arms, giving a nod of affirmation. "We welcome all of you to our table. There is plenty of food and drink, so don't feel you need to be frugal." Something caught her attention. "Oh, it appears the Harbinger wishes to speak to you." Sebastian took in the old man, wearing the same wolf-themed armor as Vilkas. His hair and beard were white as fallen snow. Strapped to his back was a giant steel warhammer. He exuded an aura of power and wisdom that made the Witcher's heart ache something fierce. The older man seemed to cotton to it as well.
Aela gave a slight bow. "Welcome Harbinger! These are visitors to Jorrvaskr. Allow me to introduce you to Kodlak Whitemane, Harbinger of the Companions."
"An honor to meet you Master Harbinger." Sebastian bowed slightly, not quite able to make eye contact with the older man, lest anyone saw the unshed tears threatening to pour out. "Thank you for welcoming us into your home and breaking bread with us."
"Your battle against Vilkas and Farkas earlier shows your and Lady Arseid's prowess." His voice was worn like sandpaper, and another beat of pain ran though his heart. "I trust your father is well, Lady Laura?" The blue-haired woman nodded slightly as Kodlak allowed himself a wise smile. "I've long held respect for Viscount Arseid, he would have made a fine addition to our ranks, and I have no doubt that you would as well." Laura smiled warmly. His gaze swept over the others. "As for the rest of you, tonight you will be our welcome guests, sit down and enjoy yourselves. The feast has just begun." He then looked to Sebastian. "Perhaps when things have settled down, we can have a private chat?" To which the Witcher just nodded taking a seat.
The food itself was delicious and the mead flowed generously. Sebastian sat between Phoebe on his right with Vilkas on his left. One of the other senior members, a man named Skjor, was talking about a recent mission to deal with a rogue bear. "This creature was massive! Easily twice the size of any other bear I've ever encountered! It swatted at me with those giant claws, if it hadn't been for my armor, I'm sure I would have died right there." He let out a drunken laugh as he took another swig of booze. "After that it got right in my face, and I punched the thing in the jaw!" Everyone laughed at this. Sebastian wasn't sure about the punching part; in his experience a bear was as dangerous as any other monster he encountered in his travels.
He was really only paying half attention, his gaze kept going over to Kodlak. Only for Phoebe to gently elbow him in the side. "What? What is it?" He said suddenly and realized everyone's attention was on him.
"I was asking what a Witcher does," Skjor asked, looking a little annoyed. "Given how you fared against Vilkas earlier, it's clear to everyone you're a master swordsman. But what exactly does it mean to be a Witcher? Is magic involved? Are you some of spellsword?"
Straightening himself up. Sebastian looked the large man in the eye. "Since you asked, I suppose I can shed some light on just what my line of work involves. The simple answer is I'm a special kind of troubleshooter. My job does involve magic, all Witchers are very adept at potion-making, but I'm not a straight mage like Lady Spring-Rain or Miss Millstein here. Although I know quite a few dedicated magic users who call on me when they need help dealing with troublesome relics and artifacts. I give them some extra muscle and steel to throw at the problem."
Everyone was taken in as Sebastian continued. "The two main pillars of being a Witcher are monster hunting and cursebreaking." Kodlak perked up at the mention of curses. "But really we'll take whatever job we come across. Witchers are renowned as master trackers, so if missing people are involved, we'll usually be called in to find them. Of course, finding them alive and well is usually a fifty-fifty prospect at best." He shrugged. "Sometimes even our best just isn't enough."
"Perhaps you should share with us some of your exploits then?" Aela offered. "Many an epic tale has been exchanged at this table. It's only right you should add to the collection as it were."
"I certainly would love to hear of your adventures," Fianna said, sending him a lustful smile and a wink. "I'm sure everyone does as well, am I right?" The bard stirred the pot. Everyone was demanding Sebastian share. Even Phoebe and Emma seemed curious. So he relented.
"Okay then, so you guys want a story? Just as well because I do have one to share. Before I get started, I want to say that I'm actually relatively new to the whole gig. I've only been a full-fledged Witcher for the last three years now. As such I don't have a real long list of major achievements to my name unlike my master and some of my fellow Witchers. You could fill a couple books about their exploits. However, the one big accomplishment I do have is very significant." He cleared his throat and swept his gaze across the room.
"In my native land of Europa, there's a city called Oxenfurt. It's home to one of the most prestigious universities on the continent. About a year ago it was nearly destroyed by a giant storm. A group of renegade magic users stole a powerful magical artifact. A staff called the Rod of Maelstrom, the name alone should tell you what it does. A very close friend of mine, a sorceress named Leona, asked for my aid in retrieving the staff before anyone got hurt. Of course, there was nothing easy about it, and you will soon find out why. So, everyone get comfortable and has another round of mead. This is going to take a while."