Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim – Shadow Rising
Chapter 1 – Thief
"Scratch, scratch, scratch, snap!" Was the repetitive sound that filled the small, dimly lit, stone walled room as a small figure picked at a dastardly difficult lock holding a great chest tightly closed.
Placing another pick into the keyhole he began slowly turning the lock, almost there and…" Yes!" He shouted internally as the lock finally gave way and opened the huge chest. Looking inside, the boy allowed a smirk to form on his face – inside where two ebony daggers, a small diamond with nought a blemish on it, several silver ingots and finally – the grandest prize – a large silver mould in the shape of a sword, an intricate web of design work and filigree interlaced masterfully.
Picking the loot up he placed it all carefully in his knapsack, now full to the brim he slung it on his back and made to take his leave, leaving the inhabitants of the house none the wiser.
As the huge dwemer door swung shut behind him he quickly slunk into the shadows, as their comforting embrace surrounded him, he took off towards The Warrens, his home and the lowest slum of the city of Markarth. The door shut behind him and he finally allowed himself to relax, walking over to Garvey – the self-assumed "leader" of the inhabitants of The Warrens – he pulled back his rough spun hood, letting his shaggy dark hair fall over his face.
"What you got for me lad?" Garvey said in his voice that sounded as though it was spoken through a mouthful of razor blades. The boy opened his bag and withdrew the twin ebony daggers, the diamond, ingots and the large silver mould. "Should fetch a nice price with the fences, the Silver Bloods shouldn't miss it." He said smirking as he handed the goods over.
Garvey raised an eyebrow. "You actually managed to get into the Silver Bloods place? How many picks did you go through lad?" He chortled ruffling the boy's hair. "Go on, get some rest your coin will be dropped to you in the morning." Garvey dismissed him, walking to the end of The Warrens he pushed his door open, locking it behind him he threw himself down on his threadbare bedroll falling asleep instantly.
The next morning...
The door to The Warrens burst open as the City Guard trooped in, swords drawn and eyes searching. "Everybody up! Out where we can see you. NOW!" Came a loud commanding voice, the boy scrambled up. "Shit, shit, shit I know that voice!" He thought franticly to himself. Stepping out of his small room, he silently prayed that Garvey had managed to get the goods to the fence already.
"The great family Silver Blood has had one of there precious silver moulds stolen, we believe the thief responsible is a resident of these parts. Step forward and you will be spared Cidhna Mine and instead be banished from the Reach, never to return. Do not step forward, and the full force of the Jarl's authority will be brought down on you. "The captain spoke in his deep Nord voice.
He didn't move an inch, spared Cidhna Mine? Bullshit they'd throw him in there and throw away the key if he gave himself up. As he was thinking all this however, the guard dragged a limp form forward and slapped his bloody face, waking him from his beating induced slumber. "This is your "leader" is it not? Garvey, you know everything that goes on down here, who stole the mould." The captain asked planting a solid kick to the Breton man's ankle.
He screamed in pain. "I'll not tell you anything! Filthy Nord scum!" He shouted in a pained voice. He soon wished he hadn't, the guard captain threw him to the floor and kicked down on the back of his knee savagely, hearing the bone shatter Garvey let out an excruciating shriek and begged the guard to stop. "I'm, I'm so sorry lad." He heard Garvey whisper.
"It-it was h-him Ca-Captain. The m-mould is in the s-sack by the d-door" Were the words that sealed the boy's fate, the guards reacted instantly- strong hands gripped him by his upper arms and his wrists were bound tightly in iron. "You're coming with me." Was all he heard before a steel armoured fist connected with his face.
-x-
He heard metal clapping on stone, felt his knees being dragged along rough stone and then a savage thud as his small body hit the floor. "Get up, Thonar Silver-Blood wants to speak to you." Came the Captains voice, opening his eyes – he found himself in the small, dimly lit room he had stolen the mould from in the first place.
"So, you're the one that's caused such a nuisance for me and my family, hmph I expected someone taller." Said Thonar, stepping forward he knelt in front of the boy. "You know I am actually rather impressed, the lock on that chest is one of the best septims can buy. In another life I may have hired you, but alas you've stolen from me. As such you must – regrettably – be disposed of. Take him away from here, throw him to the rocks – no one will miss him." The boys head shot up and he tried in vain to scramble away from the guards, but one strike from a huge steel warhammer sent him sprawling to the ground, passing out instantly.
What felt like hours later, he woke to the sound of wind and rain pounding in his ears, a pair of strong arms held his bound wrists and legs up off the ground. Opening his eyes, he stared ahead, the cliff edge loomed ever closer. "Should have stayed asleep lad, it'd be easier." Came the captains voice, reaching the cliff edge they threw him down onto his knees. Looking over the edge he gulped anxiously, a fall from this height onto the rocks below would leave his body battered and broken, oh and not to mention – dead. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry it came to this kid." The guard captain said before kicking him solidly in the middle of his back, flying over the edge he didn't even have time to let out a terrified scream before his body rag dolled off countless rocks, before finally landing with a sickening crunch in the river far below. The guard stood for a moment longer, he had to make sure the boy was dead – otherwise it'd be him they'd toss of next. Seeing the boys unmoving form, he bowed his head. "Talos save you, lad." He muttered before taking his leave.
Little did he know, the boys hand twitched in the cold water, sending bolts of pain up his arm and chest. His legs where unresponsive, his head felt as though it was being weighed down and his whole body was in absolute agony.
He spotted movement in the corner of his eye, a large form of a woman – she wore pelt armor, maybe sabre cat going by the distinctive blonde colouring. It was when she drew her sword that he knew who she was, a long piece of wood with what looked like teeth running down it, if that wasn't enough – the great stag helm on her head confirmed it, she was a Forsworn.
As she approached him, she took her helm off – her dark red hair tumbling around her face, black warpaint in a single ribbon across the eyes. "Damn those Nords, they do something like this to a child of there own kind? Monsters, we will save you youngling." Was all he heard from her before passing out.
The tall Breton Forsworn lifted his small, broken body into her arms, careful not to aggravate his injuries further she held him close as she walked to her camp, Druadach Redoubt – entering through the camps main gate she quickly approached their leader.
"Philbard! Come quickly." She called him over, settling the boy down on the ground by the fire. "Caytte! You dare bring a filthy Nord to our home? Have you taken leave of your senses!" Came Philbard's voice as he approached. "Philbard, the Nords did this to him! I saw them throw him from a cliff top like he was a lame sheep, we must do something to help him! He is but a child, we do not kill children." Caytte said standing up and facing down the taller Philbard. He glared at her through his stag horned helmet, his hand twitching for his war axe ever insistently.
"Look at him brother, he looks as though he's not seen five winters. Save him." She pleaded, reluctantly dropping his gaze to the small battered form, he did fine sympathy stirring in him. The child was broken and no healing spell he could command would save him. "I…cannot, his injuries are to severe for my skill to heal, take him to the hagraven." He ordered two-foot soldiers standing nearby to bear the boy to the altar inside the cave.
"Eolayn! We need your help." Called Philbard as he rushed up the dirt slope leading to the Hagraven's altar. The Hagraven in question tramped forward on her long sinewy limbs. "You bring a Nord here, mortal." She said in her gravely half-screeching voice. "The child was thrown from a cliff by those bastard usurping Nords in Markarth, we may be savages living out here, but we are not monsters. You must save him." Came Caytte's voice, at her words the Hagraven bristled and used her eldritch magic to bring Caytte surging forward into her bony grip. "I do not have to do anything, Forsworn. I serve you only if you serve me. Remember that before you dare command me." The Hagraven snarled, letting Caytte fall to the floor in an undignified heap. "Place him up here." She commanded the foot soldiers holding the boy, laying him on the altar she looked over his body now drenched in blood. "He is close to death, there is but one thing I can do. Prepare a Briarheart!" She commanded and Philbard looked flabbergasted. "Surely the boy will not survive the ritual. And a Nord becoming a Briarheart Warrior? The King will not approve." He said stepping forward, the Hagraven turned to face him. "If you so desperately want to save the boy, then becoming one with the Briarheart is the only way. Now move aside." She commanded, Philbard reluctantly moved away and the Hagraven began her eldritch ritual cutting into the boys limp chest, after a long few minutes of slicing she pushed her hand into the child's chest and withdrew his still beating heart – tossing it to the flames she placed the Briarheart into the formed cavity and then finally intoned the ancient script to bring a Briarheart Warrior to life:
Thorn and blood.
The briar heart's limbs sway.
Feather and fear.
The briar heart's limbs awaken.
Bone and claw.
The briar heart's limbs kill.
Die, briar heart, and lurch to life again.
As these ancient words were spoken, a myriad of colour surrounded the boy, fiery red, forest green and sinister purple swirled around his small form. As the light settled in his chest, a great ethereal light erupted out of his body, originating in his ribcage it blinded all nearby and stretched to every corner of the cave.
"Dir, krent kiir, Alok, goraan dovah, Alok, mahlaan grohiik, Alok Dovahkiin!" These words pounded in the ears of the inhabitants of the cave, though none there knew the tongue which they were spoke. As the chaos subsided, the boys limp form fell to the altar, and breathed no more.
A.N. Well hello there my freaky darlin's! Apologies for the radio silence, I'm a busy person and it got in the way of my story writing. Anyhoo, I'm back! My two Harry Potter stories are at this moment discontinued but I may go back to them in the future.
Getting on to this fic, I'm an avid player of Skyrim and read the lore for fun so this fic should be mostly lore friendly, a few disclaimers, the translation for the above Dovahzul comes off of the Dovahzul dictionary – tell you what, who can tell me what it says? Leave it in a review and I'll announce a winner next week, and the incantation the Hagraven speaks is the Rites of the Abomination from ESO. I own none of these things, just having fun.
At the time of uploading this I'll already be working on the next chapter so with that, till next we meet.
Seya soon my freaky darlin's!
Grae.
