Chapter 2 - Unleashed

As the Lone Courier sheltered from a stream of fire behind the remains of a wooden house, he reflected on how exactly things had deteriorated so quickly. The fall from nearly unbounded optimism to well, this, had been swift. He supposed it served him right for running towards the dragon. This time, it wasn't curiosity that had gotten him into this mess. No, it was the other of his compulsions that got him into no end of trouble, the one that compelled him to help people with pretty much anything they asked for. Or even didn't ask for. After all, no one had asked him to come and help this place.

Something he had quickly noticed was that many people within the town were dressed disturbingly similarly to members of Caesar's Legion. Given that they did not call him a profligate and immediately try and kill him upon seeing the two-headed bear painted on his duster, he had to assume that these were a different brand of Roman imitators. That their equipment wasn't made out of salvaged sports gear was another sign. Still, he had to fight down the rage the attire inspired in him. No matter how much he reminded himself that these people had no connection with the Legion he knew, too many brutal combats with slaving murderers who dressed the same had conditioned his instincts.

Speaking of his instincts, they could be directly blamed for his being stuck in a town under dragon attack. When he saw a dragon swoop down towards the town did he stop to think "maybe I should avoid the fire-breathing lizard?" No, he didn't. He had thought "I should help," and sprinted towards the town. His instincts told him to run towards trouble. Now that he had made it there, he had no one but himself to blame. What exactly he planned to do against a dragon was a question he had neglected to answer. A sword wasn't going to be much help against a flying enemy. The crude construction of the weapon gave him no confidence in even scratching the beast's hide.

The stream of fire ceased, but the Courier made sure to wait until he saw the black creature move away from him to harass some unfortunate other who had drawn his attention. With his freedom of movement returned to him, he needed to decide how he would use it. He emerged from cover and quickly took stock of the situation. It was a scene of pure chaos. The initial strafing of the town by the dragon had set great fires that still burned and filled the air with choking smoke. Through the din that others would be overwhelmed by, the Courier's keen perception allowed him to instantly size-up the situation.

Residents of the town fled in every direction, though none did so heedlessly. Despite the bedlam that surrounded them, they demonstrated a remarkable presence of mind in moving cover to cover, knowing that running headlong would have made them easy prey for the dragon. The Legion lookalikes were doing their best to marshal some kind of organized resistance, but their archers were having utterly no effect on the creature. With his enhanced eyesight, the Courier could watch as an arrow flew from the bowstring and struck the sable scales before springing back and plummeting to the ground.

The dragon itself had returned to strafing parts of the town it apparently deemed insufficiently on fire. It was an enormous creature, with jet black scales like thorns all over its body. Interestingly it was a bat-like creature, with two wings and two hind legs as opposed to the traditional depiction of dragons as four legged in addition to the wings. Not only were the creature's scales incredibly tough, its sheer size meant that the Courier saw no options for taking it down. If he had a Gauss rifle, he could have at least ruined its day. As things stood, his only option was damage mitigation. He couldn't end the threat, but he could at least try and prevent some of the harm that was being done.

And that would start by rescuing one of those Legion guys from his own lack of situational awareness. The dragon had turned its attention back to this side of the town just as the man sought to make a run across the street towards some civilians that had been sheltering behind a stone wall but were being hemmed in by the spreading fires. A noble sentiment, but a poorly timed one. The Courier saw the dragon's burning gaze alight upon the man and saw the beast swoop low to grasp him in its claws and dash his body upon the ground.

The Lone Wanderer snapped into action with all the speed and conviction of a round from a rifle. In a dead sprint he reached the man just as the dragon did. In a single motion he placed an arm around the man's midsection from behind and pulled him forward. With the other hand he drew his sword and whipped it against the dark claws that snatched on empty air. He felt the metal chip and the blade bounced back with enough force to stagger him. He nevertheless managed to continue on to the endangered civilians, the man he had rescued now moving under his own power.

There were two adults and a child. A couple and their daughter, the Courier presumed. The dragon made a sound of rage, and the Courier turned to see it make another pass on his side of the town, this time filling the street with flames, coming close enough to him to singe the furs he was wearing and make him grateful to be part fire-ant.

As the man he had rescued tried to catch his breath, the Courier shouted instructions to the family.

"When you get the chance, run through the gate and into the woods! Stay out of the open until it's gone!"

The Courier got a wordless nod from the family before another roar caught his attention. The dragon had landed only a few buildings away and was pouring more fire into the town. It wasn't in his direction, but he knew that his attempt to wound it had annoyed it. He hadn't harmed it, but he had challenged it.

"Go! Now!" he urged, literally pulling the civilians towards the road that led through the gates of the town.

While they initially moved with some hesitation, once they had left their hiding place they moved with all the urgency humanly possible. So, that just left him with a Legionnaire and one very pissed off dragon. Great. The two of them both moved to crouch behind the stone wall as the dragon flew overhead. The Courier could inexplicably feel its gaze roving over the town, searching. He shuddered. The situation had changed. The interest of the dragon in destroying him had afforded him an opportunity. One he intended to take advantage of. He turned to the man next to him.

"What's your name?"

"Hadvar," he responded, "Thank you fo-"

The Courier maintained piercing eye contact and cut him off.

"Hadvar. That dragon is focused on us. We need to buy time for others to escape."

Hadvar appeared initially taken aback by the Courier's statements but his expression quickly changed to one of understanding and resolve. The Courier could see in his eyes that he knew what needed to be done and the conviction to do it in the set of his jaw.

"The keep. It's the only option."

Courier SIx nodded. He didn't question him. There was no time.

"Lead the way. I'll keep us out of the dragon's claws."

Hadvar started running and the Courier followed. That he had to limit his speed to his companion's pace grated his nerves as he felt the malignant glare of the winged beast bear down on them. They had barely made it a dozen meters before he was forced to half-tackle Hadvar in order to avoid a burst of flames. Immediately he pulled the man back to his feet. Hadvar, to his credit, didn't so much as look back and pressed onwards. The Courier could see a large weather worn and rough hewn tower ahead of them that he presumed was the keep.

They pressed onward through the arch of a gate in the walls that surrounded the keep, the Courier pulled them backwards to shelter against the wall as the dragon passed overhead. The Courier saw the dragon turn in midair with an agility he felt should have been impossible and he felt it lock eyes with him. For a moment he felt paralyzed. An unnatural, all pervading icy fear filled his mind, leaving no room for conscious thought. Then his will reasserted itself and he was galvanized into action. He practically dragged Hadvar behind him as he raced across the open ground to the keep, throwing open the door and slamming it behind them.

The din of the destruction raging outside was muffled inside the keep. A roar shook the building, causing dust to fall from the slatted ceiling above. Hadvar sought to catch his breath. The Courier mimicked him though he had no need to. Instead, he was preoccupied by the distinct feeling he had experienced when he met the eyes of the dragon. The acute, unnatural, and irrational terror, though only fleeting, was unnerving. He distracted himself by focusing on the mission.

"Where does that lead?" he said, gesturing with his head to the only exit in the room.

"Deeper into the keep," said Hadvar, having recovered from the adrenaline sprint from a dragon, "Its tunnels connect to some caves I think, that should be our way out."

The Courier nodded absentmindedly as he walked over to a weapon rack and replaced the now notched iron sword with what he had found. He took a moment to inspect the weapon. While not a shortsword it was nevertheless a short sword. It was made of steel, but the quality of the metal was not particularly good. Its shape was somewhat reminiscent of a gladius, though crossed with a more traditionally medieval form of straight sword. The Courier examined where the cross-guard met the hilt. An iconographic dragon was depticed, one he recognized from the gold coined he had acquired.

"Some good imperial steel there," said Hadvar, noticing his interest, "if you see anything you think will be useful take it with you. Better you get some use out of it than the dragon buries it."

The Courier nodded graciously before turning back to the blade.

"Ironic the emblem of the empire burns down its towns," he said, attaching the weapon to his belt.

Hadvar let out a short laugh at that.

"Too true. I used to think dragons were just stories. For one to appear, out of nowhere like that," he shook his head, "I cannot say what I make of it, but it is an ill omen."

This told Courier Six a lot that he had already suspected. The utter panic the dragon had inspired told him that one's appearance was not regular. Not only did he now know that for a fact, but he had also found out that-at least as far as Hadvar knew-this was the first appearance of dragons within not only living memory, but recorded history. How fortunate of him to end up precisely here. The effect the creature had had on him still unnerved him. If there was one thing the Courier insisted on, it was complete control over himself.

The sound of masonry crumbling and the feeling of the ground shaking beneath his feet impressed a renewed sense of urgency on him. The sense of security being indoors had provided had become illusionary.

"We need to get out of here before it brings down the keep on top of us!" said Hadvar, taking the lead, going deeper into the keep.

After a moment, Six followed. Being crushed by a collapsing building would be an ignominious end after surviving so much. Before he even entered the adjoining room, he heard a warcry.

"For Ulfric and Skyrim!"

The Courier saw two armored figures in blue cloaks doing their best to kill Hadvar. For his part, Hadvar was fighting desperately, but was forced on the defensive, dodging the wide swings of one's warhammer while using his shield to push back the other.

The Lone Wanderer didn't know what 'Ulfric' or 'Skyrim' were. He assumed it had something to do with why they were attacking Hadvar, but regardless of their justification, he couldn't let them kill Hadvar. So, his intervention was necessary, though he remained hesitant about killing strangers.

He started his attack by punching the one with the axe hard enough to stun her before wrenching the shield off her arm and pressing it into the man with the warhammer as he drew it back, shoving him viciously into the stone wall. The Courier retreated swiftly to stand beside Hadvar. He saw the two assailants shake off his blows and close ranks, advancing more warily this time.

"Why are they attacking us? Don't they have better things to do?" he said irritably.

"I tried to reason with them," said Hadvar, shaking his head, "but, they're Stormcloaks and we were moments away from executing Ulfric Stormcloak. They'll not let us leave alive."

That Hadvar had tried to reason with them was enough to clear his conscience. If he had offered truce to these people and they had rejected, they had sealed their own fate. Before Hadvar had a chance to tighten his grip on his sword in anticipation of the iminent contact, the Lone Courier sprung into action.

Two opponents, both armored, albeit crudely. Scale mail and helms, joints weak, vulnerable to thrusts. His armament: pseudo-gladius and round shield. The sword was more designed for cutting than stabbing, but he would do what he could. The man with the warhammer was attempting to rush him. He could see fear mix with the battle rage in the man's eyes as the Courier's icy calm perturbed him. Just before he closed the distance and would begin his downwards swing he hesitated. Mistake. Like a viper the Courier closed the distance first, one hand burying his blade in his enemy's chest, the other embracing him, pulling him closer until the sword was hilt deep and the Courier was far inside the arc of the warhammer's swing. Six released the man and withdrew his now blood soaked sword, turning to face the last foe. Hadvar had prepared for her arrival and took her attack on his shield before his blade found her throat. The Courier did nothing but watch, indeed, there was nothing for him to do but watch. He noted that Hadvar fought well, staying methodical even in the face of an aggressive foe.

"By Ysmir.." said Hadvar, lowering his weapon, "How did you move so quickly?"

"It's all in the timing," said Six, pressing relentlessly through the only exit in the room and leaving Hadvar to follow him. He didn't want to explain his cybernetic enhancements. Hell he didn't want to think of them. Now was not the time to be preoccupied. He heard Hadvar hurry to follow him. The man was far too heavily armored to move subtly. As he pressed into the basement he came across a sight that stopped him dead. Hadvar came up behind him and saw the reason he had halted.

"The torture room. Gods, I wish we didn't need these..." he said, sounding genuinely regretful.

The Courier could barely conceal his distaste.

There were two figures in Legion garb in the room. Thankfully there were no torture victims or the he may have killed the torturers where they stood, Hadvar be damned.

"You fellows happened along just in time," said the older and presumably more senior of the two, "These boys seemed a bit upset at how I've been entertaining their comrades." He gestured to the bodies of what Six assumed were "stormcloaks."

Hadvar seemed a decent enough man, but the Courier was having doubts about the side he had ended up on. While it was true that torture was a uniform feature of pre-modern society, he couldn't say with any confidence that the same held true here. The "empire" here could easily be an oppressive regime that was viewed as barbaric even within this society. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable with his role here. He was forced into battle without knowing the first thing of what was going on.

Hadvar, good natured as he was, was attempting to convince the senior torturer that he needed to flee on account of the dragon attack. It was a losing battle that the Courier had lost patience with.

"You have no authority over me, boy," the torturer bit.

Hadvar's exasperation began to show. "Didn't you hear me? I said the keep is under attack!"

"Leave him," the Courier growled, "If he wants to be buried with his tools, so much the better."

Hadvar shot him a concerned look, but nevertheless followed him as he walked past the torturer and towards the room's exit.

"There's no way out that way, you know," the torturer unhelpfully condescended.

He was ignored.

Courier Six walked down the long passage, past the crude prison cells, still seething and into a room, well more of a furnished cave than a room, filled with ten Stormcloaks. The Courier looked at them, looked at the weapon in his hand, and looked back up at them. Not the best look for peacemaking, he thought wryly. The swing of a greatsword forced him backwards, as he only narrowly managed to dodge it. Two more soldiers advanced towards him, one wielding a large axe, the other with mace and shield. Not good. He was getting boxed in. Another swing from the greatsword, this time parried with a blow from his sword. His own counterthrust failed to connect the length of his enemy's sword keeping him at a distance.

In the wasteland, there were few people who could match Lone Courier in melee combat. While he preferred to use firearms for obvious reasons, the virtues of a ballistic fist were not lost on him, no small part thanks to Veronica's influence.

"Have you ever tried just hitting something? Let out some of that brooding a more constructive way?" said a peevish voice from behind him.

"Hitting something is constructive? Veronica you destroy more things than a Paladin does."

He didn't turn to face her as he spoke. He never did when she bugged him while they walked. He was always focused on the objective. No distractions, no hesitations. Lives were always on the line.

"I know! And that's why I'm not as serious and miserable as you are, destruction's cathartic ya know? Like punching a wall, except it's someone's face."

That got the Courier to turn to look at her. Brown eyes met red lenses. She merely frowned at him.

"You know, you really should try it," she said with an uncommon sincerity.

He turned away wordlessly and kept walking. As he did so, Veronica cracked a small smile at the ballistic fist now attached to his wrist.

But as another near decapitation by greatsword proved, punching the face off a Legion assassin didn't fully translate to swordplay. Swordsmanship wasn't exactly something one could pick up in the wastes. On the occasions when the Lone Courier had used a sword, he had done so in the same way he had used a machete. Hacking brutally and quickly at the enemy. That was how things were done in the wastes. The intricacies of swordplay were something that had died when the bombs fell. Against people who spent their whole lives practicing this type of combat he was at a disadvantage. That was something he would need to swiftly remedy if he was to survive in this new place.

Still, this fight was not the time nor place to try to learn to riposte. He would have to leverage his other advantages in order to win. With his uncanny speed he literally grabbed the blade of the greatsword as it was being drawn back for a swing with his left hand, his skin, hardened by cybernetics and Harold's mutation, was as hard as iron and tree bark. He ripped the sword out of his enemy's hands and decapitated him with the sword in his right hand. He turned to the two others that were advancing on him.

Still holding the blade of the greatsword, he swung it pommel first at the one bearing a shield, forcing him to raise his shield to block the blow. Six saw his opportunity and moved in delivering a vicious kick to his enemy's knee, caving it in. However, in his rush to close the distance and end the fight, he had failed to keep track of his enemy's weapon. The flange of the mace cut a thin scratch along his sternum which was paid back with an impalement, ending the cries of pain from the soldier. He turned just in time to catch a heavy axe blow on his shield, forcing him to drop the greatsword. He readjusted his stance and ignored the feeling of blood running down his chest, preparing to strike forward and overwhelm this enemy before the other could corner him.

A blade sprouted from the enemy's chest as he collapsed to reveal Hadvar behind him. The Courier nodded in appreciation before turning to face the rest of the Stormcloaks. They were crowding across a stone bridge, cautiously moving towards the two of them, wary after the dispatch of their comrade. Their close order meant that they formed practically a wall of spears and a hedge of weapons. Against a normal foe, that may have been wise. Against a hyper-lethal cyborg, it would not help them. Using his shield as a battering ram, the Courier stormed across the bridge, the sheer force behind his charge throwing the enemy either off the bridge or to the ground. Of the latter, his blade quickly found their throats.

"Quickly Hadvar!" he called back, "Before they recover!"

The Courier threw forward a lever that lowered a bridge to continue deeper into the caves. He and Hadvar only barely made it across before the roof of the previous chamber collapsed amid the roars of the dragon.

"I guess we're lucky that didn't come down on top of us," commented Hadvar.

Six nodded absentmindedly. His adrenaline was still pumping and his mind was elsewhere.
"Here, drink this," said Hadvar, handing him a red glass bottle of something, the Courier assumed it was something similar to the Legion's Bitter Drink and so uncorked it and gulped it down without question. It was oddly lukewarm but nowhere near as utterly revolting as Bitter Drink. As well, the wound on his chest closed near instantly, as if he had used a stimpack. Curious.

They continued further into the cave, slaughtering some oversized spiders they encountered without too much difficulty. Dealing with abnormally sized animals gave the Courier an odd sense of comfort. Truly things weren't that different from home.

After a short while he saw Hadvar forge ahead and quickly found out why.

"This looks like the way out! I was starting to wonder if we'd ever make it."

The exit of the cave was blindingly bright, it took his eyes a moment to adjust. He was greeted with another stunning view that-despite everything-was enough to distract him. The clear skies and jagged snow capped mountains were a sight that he had not yet grown accustomed to. After having spent most of his life in a Vault, the outdoors themselves remained something of a novelty. Seeing nature like this, in such sharp and dramatic relief, untouched by the corruption of the bombs was awe inspiring. He noticed strange stone structures on the mountain on the left, arch-like, one after the other, looking like the ruins of a whale skeleton or something. Then, there was the roar of the dragon and he hit the dirt, with Hadvar following only a moment after. The Courier risked looking up and saw the beast fly in the direction of the strange structures before disappearing behind the mountain.

Cautiously, the two men regained their feet.

"Looks like he's gone for good this time. But I don't think we should stick around to see if he comes back," said Hadvar.

"True enough," said Six, still gazing out past where the dragon had been.

"Closest town from here is Riverwood. My uncle's the blacksmith there. I'm sure he'd help us out."

He turned to Hadvar and spoke. "Thank you," he said, with as much heartfeltness he could convey. The Courier was not good at thanking people. He was worse at being thanked, but still awful at communicating gratitude. Despite his own compulsion to help others he never expected anyone else to return the favor and ended up feeling awkward when they did.

"It's nothing," said Hadvar, "After saving my life back there it's the least I could do. Besides, it's best if we warn them. If the dragon comes back, Riverwood should have more warning than Helgen did."

The Courier nodded and the two set off down the path in the direction of Riverwood. They traveled for a bit in silence before Hadvar glanced back at him and spoke.

"Listen, you should go to Solitude and join up with the Imperial Legion. We could really use someone like you."
The Courier hesitated before answering. He wasn't opposed to intervening, but he needed more information before he could decide for himself which side he should be backing.

"I appreciate the offer, but I'm not exactly from around here. This isn't really my fight. You said those were Stormcloaks?"

"Yes Stormcloaks," Hadvar frowned, puzzled, "I could tell you were a foreigner, but you must truly be from far away if word of the civil war in Skyrim has not reached you. Or perhaps news spreads more slowly than I imagine. Here in Skyrim there's been talk of little else since the war began," he shrugged, "Anyway, it's pretty simple. Ulfric founded the Stormcloaks years ago, as a sort of private army to advance his ambitions. He's always used the ban on the worship of Talos to stir people up against the Empire. He never succeeded in getting much support, so a few months ago he murdered the High King! That got the Empire's attention."

Right. So there was an Empire and a Rebellion, the latter led by Ulfric Stormcloak with his followers being named after him. There had been a High King of Skyrim-which was presumably a part of this empire-who was now dead and which Hadvar attributed to Ulfric's doing. That only the killing of the High King caused the Empire's notice, rather than Ulfric's amassing of private army, indicated that this Empire had something of a loose hand. He supposed the presence of a High King implied that there was room for substantial autonomy within this empire. He was hesitant to draw too many conclusions based purely on what Hadvar had told him. Hadvar was a soldier of the Empire after all. That he was a good man did not mean that this perception of the political situation was accurate. The mention of a ban on "Talos worship was interesting.

"Talos?" he asked.

"Aye, the Thalmor banned his worship when they made peace with the Empire," said Hadvar seemingly confused, before a look of comprehension appeared followed immediately by wide eyed disbelief, "Surely you've heard of Talos? The ninth Divine, hero-god of man?"

The Courier looked at him blankly.

That got Hadvar to stop and look at him intently, perhaps for the first time.

"Who are you?" he said, "Not that I'm not grateful, but how did you end up at Helgen?"

While the Lone Courier was fully aware he couldn't exactly provide the details of his arrival without sounding like a madman, he also saw no reason in concealing the parts that were pertinent. Who knows? Maybe being dragged through a hole in reality is common around here.

"I'm a courier, I was in my country, inspecting a strange object, it reacted and somehow I ended up here. Helgen was the first inhabited place I saw so headed there. Then the dragon attacked."

That was more or less the truth. He omitted the parts that would have made him sound utterly loony, and the details about the waste, which might not come across well.

Hadvar looked at him in silence for a moment. The Courier expected him to press him for more information but he did not.

"You must be truly far from home if none of this is familiar," he said. Six noticed a look of genuine sympathy from him. He merely shrugged.

"I'll find a way back, I just need to get my bearings," he said, waving off the concern.

The confidence in his voice was only half mirrored in his mind. Hadvar nonetheless relented and they returned to the road. The Courier noted that there had been no comment on the manner of his arrival. Maybe he had been right about the mundanity of being dragged through holes in reality?

"Truth be told, there are worse places you could have ended up than Skyrim," said Hadvar, "Those in other parts of Tamriel find it wild and brutal, but this is my home and I've always appreciated her harsh beauty."

"I can't disagree," the Courier murmured, still looking around, taking in the grand sights, the pleasant scent on the breeze, and the sound of birds. It took some effort for him not to expect hostiles to appear from every likely ambush spot, but it failed to spoil the experience. Just simply traveling in this country was something that most in the wastes would have killed to do. While the Courier had no time to stop and smell the roses, that wouldn't stop him noticing them as he passed them. For now, the Courier didn't have anyone to kill or anyone to save and scenery was enough to keep his mind occupied. He'd enjoy it while it lasted.

AN: Quite a long chapter, certainly by my standards. Please leave a review with any comments or feedback, I like to hear what people think.