Chapter #2. "Who are you?"
In unison, the carriages came to a halt, causing us to jolt within our seats. A small crowd began to form around us as we arrived at our destination. We were in the shadow of a vast stone tower. The thief was more frantic than ever, Ulfric remained silent, and the soldier maintained his sense of honorable understanding. "Let's go," he said to me, "We shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."
I nodded in reply. I still hadn't found words to speak. My head was still spinning at the very thought of the situation. I tried not to look at the bloodstained chopping block in the center of the commotion.
"No! Wait! We're not rebels!" The thief screamed in terror. He tugged at his bonds in a vain attempt at freeing them.
"Face your death with some courage, thief." The soldier said sternly as the four of us stood up to exit the cart. One after the other, we jumped to the cold ground.
"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!" The thief begged, as he ignored the soldier's advice.
The Imperial Captain stepped forward. She was a well-built woman, with scarred-tan skin and eyes as harsh as those of a bear. She was shorter than the Imperial Soldier beside her who humbly held a paper and quill, but her command of the troops was clear. "Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time," she said confidently. Where the other Imperials seemed to see this as duty, this woman seemed to relish her power.
"Empire loves their damned lists," my soldier friend whispered.
The timid man with the paper and quill spoke up, "Ulfric Stormcloak," he stated, "Jarl of Windhelm." The apparent High King stepped forward immediately.
"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," my soldier friend said as the king walked towards his certain doom.
"Ralof of Riverwood," the Imperial soldier said. The blonde-haired Stormcloak maintained the honor he had held throughout the foreboding trip. He nodded at the man with the quill confidently - as if he knew him - then stepped into line. I overheard someone refer to the Imperial by the name Hadvar.
"Lokir of Rorikstead," Hadvar said to the thief, who stepped forward.
He tugged at his bonds one more time and cried: "No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Lokir stomped his feet into the dirt and took off running. The coward sprinted as fast as he could, making his way through the town as he ignored the orders to halt. "You're not going to kill me!" he said in vain as an Imperial arrowhead burst through his chest. I saw the blow cause blood to spurt into the air. He fell to his knees with one final cry of fear and was dead before the rest of him landed.
"Anyone else feel like running?" the captain challenged. I knew she secretly hoped that one of us would take her up on the offer, but no one was so foolhardy.
"Wait," Hadvar said to me after a moment of silence, "You there. Step forward." I obeyed calmly, having no intentions of dying like a craven. "Who are you?"
My name is Soliril, I thought as I looked at him through bright yellow eyes. They didn't know who I really was, but it didn't matter anyway. I decided to give him my true name. "Sol," I said simply. It wasn't my full name, but it would suffice. He and the captain studied my features for a brief moment. I stood a head taller than the both of them. I wasn't particularly unique looking by High Elf standards, save for light facial hair growing on the sides of my jaw. I kept my light-brown hair at shoulder-length and swept back. My skin was bronze like many others of my race.
"You're not with the Thalmor Embassy, are you High Elf?" Hadvar inquired. My heart jumped within my chest, but before I had time to speak he corrected himself. "No," he said, "that can't be right…" He turned to the captain, who glared at me with indiscernible hatred. "Captain. What should we do? He's not on the list."
The moment of hope was brief at best. But the merciless captain quickly responded: "Forget the list. He goes to the block."
"By your orders, Captain." Hadvar replied respectfully. "I'm sorry," he said, turning to me, "we'll make sure your remains are returned to the Summerset Isles."
My heart sank at his words which were said with sorrow. It was in that moment that the reality of the dire situation had made itself fully known to me. I was going to die. Hardly did I hear the words that were said around me. Although, among the blurred voices I heard a single sentence: "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."
My feet shuffled forward and my head remained hung low. Strands of hair which usually were tucked behind my ears brushed against my forehead as I looked at the scene before me with sad eyes. I was surrounded by armed Imperials and bound Stormcloaks. Upon looking to my left, I saw Ulfric Stormcloak standing, still bound and gagged. Before him stood General Tullius. Though an Imperial, Tullius was not much shorter than the Jarl of Windhelm. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero," Tullius said in a gruff voice, "But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." Ulfric could only grunt in response and Tullius continued. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace."
In the air, a sound like distant thunder echoed. I was certain that it did not just come from my ears because the entire crowd stopped to look about themselves. "What was that?" Hadvar inquired.
"It's nothing," Tullius responded promptly, "Carry on."
"Yes, General Tullius!" The captain replied with a smile adorning her lips. "Give them their last rites."
Out of the crowd, a lone priestess stepped forward adorned in the yellow and orange cloak of one in service to the gods. By nature of her position, I assumed that she was a priestess of Arkay the God of Death. The god whom I would be meeting very soon. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius," she began, "Blessings of the Eight Divines are upons you…-"
"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with," interrupted a bold Stormcloak. As if there were such thing as a timid one, it would seem. He was already marching towards the chopping block.
"As you wish," the priestess stated, clearly taken aback by the brashness of the warrior.
"Come on, I haven't got all morning!" The stormcloak said as he was forced to kneel by the captain. The block was little more than a stump of wood with a basket to catch head's that were recently removed from their bodies. I shuddered at the thought. The soldier still heald himself proudly, so the captain kicked him against the block with a steel boot. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" He asked. No sooner did the words leave his mouth that a rusty blade cleaved his neck. Blood spurted as his head fell right into that basket, his body fell to the earth limply. The captain kicked it out of her way.
"You Imperial bastards!" yelled a woman in the crowd which began to roar. Cries of "justice" and "death to the Stormcloaks" began to resound throughout the area.
As the chaos built, Ralof said quietly: "As fearless in death as he was in life."
I only had a moment to ponder before I heard the captain yell, "Next, the High Elf."
Dear Reader,
I decided to release part #2 a little earlier than expected! This probably won't be the most common occurrence, as I am a college student. However, I really want to get through Helgen so I can move on to some more original adventures. This chapter was really fun to write. I purposely avoided a detailed description of Sol in chapter #1 so I could find some way to fit in the character creation in a natural way. I hope it worked out! As usual, I hope you enjoy it and I would really appreciate to hear your thoughts. So, if you have the time, review, review, REVIEW! I would love to hear any constructive criticism, and who doesn't love some encouragement? I am very grateful for you reading this story. Part #3 will be out fairly soon, I just want to finish a round of editing (shouldn't take long, the chapter is extra short) and I want to have chapter #4 mostly written before I post. Thanks for reading!
~Kovecs