Skyrim: Legend of the Dovahkiin
Acceptance 1
Vilkas stood facing his brother, his shield held level with his face in a defensive stance. Beads of sweat rolled from his forehead all the way down to his strong chin and finally, the ground beneath him. His blade bore the tell tale signs of a hard days worth of training and would more than likely need to be brought to Eorlund at the Skyforge for repairs. His shield, as strong and durable as it was, also bore the scars of heavy training, and would also need repair. His steel wolf armor was battered and heavily dented, there was even a large gash from the shoulder all the way to the stomach area where Farkas had managed to penetrate his armor with a power attack.
Farkas on the other hand, was doing better than his brother had even expected of him. It was known that out of the two brothers, while both were highly skilled warriors, Vilkas was the superior fighter, as he would use both his brain as well as his brawn. But today, Farkas seemed to be using his brain as well, something Vilkas and everyone else who was watching took note of. Farkas was the type of warrior who would use his skill with a great-sword in conjunction with his brute force to completely overpower his opponent and end the battle quickly. Today, however he was using a whole new skill set. Rather than overwhelming his opponent with powerful single blows, he would strike, then quickly pull the blow and deliver yet another attack. These strikes were more to keep an opponent distracted and set them up for a fatal final blow.
Unlike most warriors who used two handed weapons, Farkas was fast. Most who used such a weapon class often sacrificed speed for power, but Farkas had trained so well and had mastered the weapon to such an extent that he maintained an unnatural speed with the blade, allowing him to easily outmaneuver any opponent.
The brothers stood opposite each other, both in perfect battle stances, staring each other down. Then, Vilkas attacked. He dashed forward and delivered a powerful downward blow. Farkas, seeing the attack coming, raised his blade and parried the blow. What he didn't see was the follow up attack of his brothers shield-bash directly to his face. Farkas staggered and Vilkas followed up his assault with a boot to his brothers midsection, knocking him to the ground. Rolling back to his feet, Farkas darted forward and delivered a powerful upward slash, the attack nearly connecting with his siblings chin. The brothers continued their training exercise for a good ten minutes before they finally tired each other out.
"You've improved, brother," Vilkas complimented as they strode over to the outside dining area. "Its good to see you using your brain for once."
Farkas gave a light chuckle. "I've been relentless in my training, learned all kinds of new tricks."
The siblings each took a seat and removed their armor from the waist up, letting the cool Skyrim air rush over their muscular bodies.
"Well said, ice brain," Aela interjected. The two brothers looked over to where she was seated. "I was very impressed with your skill today, you were in rare form."
The brothers stared at each other for a moment before they threw their heads back in laughter. Aela was never really one to openly praise another warrior for their skill, much less tell them outright. She frowned and glared at the two siblings who continued to laugh even harder than before, much to her annoyance.
"You find my words amusing?" the Huntress growled, shooting them a pointed glare.
Vilkas noticed this and slowly ceased his laughter, he had to, otherwise he'd be kissing the Huntress's fist. If there was one thing any member of the Companions knew not to do, it was screw with Aela the Huntress. While she was usually silent and kept to herself, she was a raging tempest when angered, something Torvar had discovered the hard way.
Aela had just returned to Jorrvaskr after a week long job in Falkreath and, while happy to be back home, was in no mood for the company of others. She was sitting near the fire in the mead hall when Torvar, in one of his drunken stupors, made the fatal mistake of grabbing the Huntress's behind. She responded by breaking the mans wrist along with every finger on his hand, she then warned him that if he ever touched her again, she would cut off his most valuable asset. Since then, Torvar never so much as looked at the woman, much less touch her.
"Apologies sister, I did not mean to offend," Vilkas said, still laughing a bit. "It just surprises me is all, the way you compliment my brother's abilities that is."
Farkas crossed his arms and nodded his head. "I have to agree with Vilkas. You've almost never complimented anyone, Not even the Harbinger."
Aela rolled her eyes. "If you like me insulting you so much, then I take back what I said before. You're an idiot who rushes into battle head first like an inexperienced whelp fresh out of training and will probably be killed by some milk-drinking mage. Is that better ice brain?"
Farkas was silent, his head hung slightly low and Aela wondered if she had actually managed to hurt the Nord's feelings, if that was even possible. Then, he laughed. A good hearted, strong laugh, one that caught the Huntress by surprise.
Gods, I've never heard him laugh this much before. It's almost scary.
"I really don't see the humor behind my words." She deadpanned.
"We're not laughing at your words, sister," Vilkas assured her. "Rather, we laugh at your change in attitude."
"My attitude remains the same as it always has!" Aela spat, slamming her fist onto the table. "Nothing about me has changed, at all!"
Vilkas and his brother shot her a questioning look, Aela simply leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
"Stare all you want, but I'm telling you I haven't changed. Not in the slightest."
Vlikas grabbed his armor and threw it over his shoulder. "Whatever you say sister, whatever you say." he said in a mocking tone of voice. Farkas gathered his things and followed his brother, leaving the Huntress to her thoughts. She didn't understand those two sometimes, one minute they were the most serious no-nonsense pair you ever laid eyes on, and the next they were laughing their heads off and poking fun at you. The Huntress let out a heavy sigh.
Men…
But truth be told, Aela had changed - no matter how much she tried to deny the fact. She changed so much, her attitude, her temperament, her outlook on life… everything. Even her personal feelings towards…
Ugh, what am I thinking…
She was reading to much into the situation. It wasn't just herself, but all the members of the Companions who had changed. Ria had shown remarkable improvement in her ability to handle herself in battle, a far cry from a month ago when she could barley stand against a bear. Athis had become an even better knife fighter and improved his skill in stealth quite a bit, a fact he religiously boasted about. Even Torvar had become less of a drunken fool than he originally was, but only a little. It was all so… strange. Ever since the Harbinger had joined their ranks everyone within the walls of Jorrvaskr seemed to just… change, mostly for the better.
Their reputations had changed as well. Most in Whiterun, and all over Skyrim for that matter saw the Companions as little more than sell-swords, no better than the bandits or thugs that dotted the lands. But after their newest recruit became the Harbinger, everything changed. People began to see that they weren't just thugs looking to make coin every chance they got, but fierce, honorable warriors who were more than deserving to carry on the legacy of the Companions. She smiled, for the first time in a long while things were actually looking up for them. Then she remembered: the Silver Hand. They were, although a minor one, still a problem for the Companions and needed to be dealt with soon, especially since their leader escaped.
The memories of Gallows Rock came flooding back, the infiltration, the battle with Krev, and Skjors brush with death - everything. She shuddered when she recalled the image of Krev driving his sword through Skjor's chest, how her long time friend slouched and fell to the ground in a pool of his own blood. In an attempt to save him, Aela had foolishly rushed at the werewolf hunter, fully intent on ending his life, only to be cut down by one of his lieutenants who had been hiding amongst the shadows. Krev taunted her, calling her and the rest of her comrades abominations. He would have killed her had it not been for their Harbinger, who arrived just in the nick of time after getting lost within the Silver Hand fortress, something Aela later punched him in the jaw for.
The boy was amazing, she had to admit. He charged head-long into the multitude of werewolf hunters, cutting down any and all who dared to stand in his path. Krev and his best men moved in to subdue the boy but found themselves fighting a losing battle. The blue-eyed Nord weaved in and out of the group of Silver Hand, killing anyone who made the mistake of taking him on. It was an incredible sight. The way he swung his katanas, the movement of his body, his speed and precision, his graceful yet powerful footwork, his ferocity in battle... everything.
Realizing who she had started to think about, the Huntress pushed the thoughts from her mind. There were more important things to worry about, like finding Krev and the rest of the Silver Hand.
"Death will come to you, Krev." she whispered "It's only a matter of time."
-High Hrothgar path-
The Harbinger watched as the snow troll gurgled and fell to the floor dead. He took one final look at his surroundings, making sure that there weren't any of the beasts left before he sighed and sheathed his katanas. He continued his ascent up the seven thousand steps, pushing forward to his desired destination: High Hrothgar. As he pressed forward his mind began to wander back to the first time he climbed the mountain, back to when he first met the Greybeards, back when they told him of his destiny. Dragons had returned to Tamriel and along with them, the worst one of all… Alduin. His presence in the fourth era signaled the end of the world, the end of Tamriel, and even Nirn itself. However, as dire as Alduin's return was to Nirn, it was not without hope.
When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world
When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped
When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles
When the Dragon-born Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls
When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding
The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.
The Greybeards had told him of the Dovahkiin… the last Dragonborn. A single individual gifted with the same incredible powers held by the dragons themselves. An individual that would rise to fight against Alduin and assure the world's survival.
The Harbinger scoffed, he never believed such things in his entire life, it was absurd! Sure the dragons were powerful creatures but they weren't invincible, after all, he had killed one just a month prior; though it went completely unnoticed. But despite these doubts, the young Nord knew deep in his heart that there was truth to what the Greybeards told him, namely the revelation that he was the Dragonborn.
After he killed the dragon in the wilderness after escaping from Helgen something strange happened, something he still couldn't explain. The dragon had suddenly started to burn immediately after its defeat, then, there was a rush of wind that flooded his body. He felt… good, like a great weight he had been carrying had been taken off his shoulders and tossed aside, he savored every minute of it. Then as quickly as it came, it passed, and he found the dragon had turned to nothing but bone. He smirked when he remembered taking the three dragon bones and two dragon scales that he had found on the corpse, those things would sell for a lot of coin, but they were so damn heavy.
The Harbingers thoughts were interrupted when yet another snow troll jumped off a small cliff and tried to crush him with its full body weight, a fatal mistake. The young Nord dove to the right, avoiding the sneak attack, the beast roared in anger and charged forward. The Harbinger drew one of his katanas and took a defensive stance, baring his teeth. The troll roared as it swung a mighty overhead blow, the Harbinger ducked the attack and countered with a quick spinning slash to the monsters belly, disemboweling the creature. It made a futile attempt to put its spilled guts back inside its stomach before collapsing dead in the snow. Looking up, he saw at least five more trolls and two Frostbite spiders surging towards him. A vicious smirk formed on the edges of his lips and a feral snarl soon followed. Drawing his other blade, he darted forward, yelling battle cries as he engaged the deadly group of enemies. He was in a hurry to Hrothgar, and these creatures were in his way. He would make sure they suffered for it.
-Skyrim-
The Stormcloak soldiers strode about the camp performing their assigned duties. Some kept watch around the perimeter, looking for any signs of an imperial ambush. Others looked over battle maps, planning out attacks and looking over potential ambush spots. Among these soldiers was Norring, one of the Stormcloaks newest recruits. He had joined soon after the Jarl of Windhelm, Ulfric Stormcloak, returned after escaping from Helgen. He looked down at his outfit and smiled, the reality that he of all people was a member of the Stormcloaks, a true son of Skyrim.
The Imperials were spineless cowards who catered to every whim of those damn Elves, the Thalmor and the Dominion. Norring clenched his fist as he thought more about the injustices the Dominion brought about, namely the ban on worshiping mighty Talos. Its was absurd, the Elves couldn't stomach the fact that a man had risen to become one of the mighty divines, so in response, they banned his worship. Norring however took pleasure in knowing that when the war was over, when the empire was defeated and Ulfric was sitting on the throne as high king, the Thalmor that wandered Skyrim looking for worshipers of Talos would be slaughtered soon after. He practically salivated at the very thought.
His happy thoughts were cut short when an earsplitting roar ripped through the silence of the wilderness. Norring jumped at the sound, drawing his blade as he frantically searched the sky for the source of noise. The men around the camp followed suit, some drawing blades, others readying arrows. A deathly silence fell over the camp, the tension so thick it could be cut. Then, it struck. A gigantic black dragon covered from head to toe in sharp spikes landed on top of the camp, killing many of the soldiers underfoot. The few remaining Stormcloaks ran at the creature and attacked, trying desperately to kill the thing. The dragon opened its mouth and snatched away a soldier who made the mistake of getting to close to his head. He tossed the man aside, turning to a group of three more soldiers slashing away at his hind legs, futile. The dragon reared its head back before unleashing a massive torrent of fire, the soldiers didn't even have time to scream before they were burnt to nothing but ashes. More Stormcloak rebels charged the dragon, shouting curses and war cries as they ran.
The Dragon simply laughed. "Hio nis krii ahrk dov, meyes joore!"
The Dragon continued its unstoppable rampage, killing and crushing all the foolish mortals who dared stand against its power. Norring was the only remaining soldier left. He stood, shaking, quivering at the death and destruction that was the dragon before him. The beast turned to face him, glaring at the worthless mortal, savoring the smell of fear that radiated off the human. The dragon inched closer and closer until it stood so close that Norring could feel the monsters very breath upon his face. It stood silent, staring at the petrified man standing before him. Norring was afraid; afraid, to speak, afraid to move, afraid to even breath.
The dragon lifted its head in the air and spoke, "Zu'u Alduin! Faas zu Joore!"
Norring let out a brief scream before the World-Eater opened his maw and ripped the man to shreds. Alduin scanned the area, surveying the carnage he had just inflicted upon the worthless humans. He roared in the air in triumph before spreading his ebony wings and taking flight east, intent on bringing doom upon anything that crossed his path.
A/N: Well, I'm finally done with this chapter, took longer than I expected. Anyway, to answer questions that people probably have, I'll answer them beforehand. In this story, after the protagonist escaped Helgen, he didn't go to riverwood and then straight to Whiterun. He actually ended up going out into the wilderness and fighting a dragon that was passing over the area. After absorbing its soul he just kinda ignores the whole thing and spends the night in the wilds. It isn't until the next morning that he heads to Whiterun and joins the Companions. At this point the hasn't even gone into Bleak Falls Barrow yet, as he was busy doing the Companions quest line. It's a weird series of events and really kinda backwards, but I was going for something different, not the same old story over and over again. Anyway, more will be explained in the later chapters and I swear I WILL reveal the nameless protagonists name soon. Anyway, comments are welcome(no flaming) and feel free to leave a PM. Until the next chapters.
Zero out