Skyrim: Legend of the Dovahkiin
Acceptance 3
"I don't understand. I never wanted this, any of it!" he shouted, anger and desperation apparent in his voice, "So why… why me?"
The Greybeards stood silent, their peaceful visages never unwavering. The Harbinger stared at them, waiting, hoping they would give some kind of answer, some kind of respite from his internal torment. They did not respond.
The young Nord clenched his fists. "Answer me!" The Greybeards stood there, silent as a tomb, looking upon the young warrior with pity. For they of all people understood the boy's plight , to an extent. They knew that the boy possessed the ancient power of the dragons, knew that he was capable of projecting his voice into a powerful force, and knew he wasn't ready to wield such a power. They could see it, the internal battle being waged within his very soul. He was confused, frightened, unsure of what the future held for him. But the Greybeards were adamant in their decision, they could give him the answer he sought, he would have to find it on his own.
"I am sorry, young Dovahkiin." Arngeir said in a low, even tone. "But we cannot give you the answers you seek. That is something you must discover on your own. We can but guide you to the proper path in achieving mastery of your voice, but you must first come to terms with the power that you have been blessed with."
The young Nord's expression turned indignant "Blessed? You truly believe that this is a blessing? To have a destiny that is not my own dropped into my lap simply because the gods view me as the most "convenient" of mortals?"
Arngeir simply smiled, further confusing the young warrior. No matter what he said to them they never once showed the slightest amount of anger or annoyance at his words, they just... smiled and answered. The Harbinger didn't like it.
"Whether a gift or a curse is a matter you must decide for on your own. Until then, I must ask that you return to your home and refrain from returning to High Hrothgar until you accept what you are and embrace the power that has been bestowed upon you."
The other three Greybeards walked over to different sections of the building and went back to their meditation, leaving Arngeir and the Harbinger alone, much to the young Nord's annoyance. The Harbinger locked eyes with the old monk, blue staring into grey. Then the man spoke.
"Do not trouble yourself, young Dovahkiin. In time, all will become clear, and when that time comes, you will be ready to begin the mastery of your power."
-Ivarstead: Vilemyr Inn-
The Harbinger sat at a small table at the far end of the Tavern, staring blankly at the tankard of mead in his hands. This had been his third drink of the day, a strange sight to anyone who knew him, considering he almost never touched alcohol. He was never a fan of mead, wine, or drinking in general. Drink clouded the mind and that was never a state to be in when battle came calling, and the Harbinger never knew when he would be called to battle. It had been about four hours since his return from High Hrothger after speaking with the Greybeards, well one of them anyway. All and all, it turned out to be a monumental waste of time.
The Greybeards, or rather Arngeir, hadn't been any help at all in deciphering the meaning behind his strange dreams. All the monk did was repeat the same thing over and over again, infuriating the young warrior. The Harbinger let out a long, exhausted sigh and slid a weary hand down his face before taking a long draft of his drink. His thoughts were dancing around in his head like a raging inferno threatening to burn away his very mind and plunge him into madness. He'd only been in Skyrim for a few months and already trouble seemed to have found its way to his doorstep. He had nearly been executed at Helgen, attacked by two dragons, was nearly killed by the witches of Glenmoril Coven, rid Kodlak White-Mane of his beast spirit and became the leader of the Companions, so to speak.
He laughed at the thought of the "accomplishments" he had already achieved after such a short time, Vilkas had joked that it was because the gods had been watching over him. The Harbinger gave a low chuckle.
The gods seldom take note of fools...
He had just started to take another drink from his tankard when the barmaid walked up beside him. The Harbinger took a moment to examine her. She was clearly a Nord, her short blonde hair and deep blue eyes attested to that. She had a nice, curvy figure and beautiful snow white skin. She had an enchanting smile accompanied by a kind demeanor that betrayed her rather seductive appearance.
She gently put her hand on the young warrior's shoulder. "Excuse me milord, but would you like to hear me play my lute?"
The Harbinger opened his mouth to decline the barmaids offer but decided against it at the last second, maybe some music was what he needed to take his mind off of the tiring thoughts.
"That would be nice." he replied, handing the woman five gold coins.
"Many thanks milord. I'll play the best tune I know." she pulled out a small wooden instrument and began to play.
It was a simple yet enchanting tune, one that he hadn't heard anywhere before, it sounded alien, like it originated from an unknown land. The Harbinger found himself lost in the soft melody of the strange song, hypnotized by its strange notes. He moved his chair a tad bit closer to the barmaid, wanting to hear as much of the strange tune as possible. As he found himself more and more captivated by the strange music he felt a sudden sensation of peace wash over him, like he just…didn't care about anything anymore.
The sensation quickly vanished as the barmaid's song finally ended. "That was…beautiful," the Harbinger stammered. "Where did you learn that tune? The Bards College?"
The Barmaid shook her head. "No, from my mother," she replied. She pulled over a nearby chair and sat directly in front of the young warrior. "She gave me this lute when I was but a young lass and taught me how to play. She composed the song herself, said the inspiration came from a dream she had."
"A dream?"
The Barmaid chuckled. "Strange isn't it? We used to jest about it being of some kind of message from the gods."
At this the Harbinger raised an eyebrow. "Used to?"
The woman's head lowered slightly. "My mother died when I was just thirteen." she explained, her tone slightly saddened. "I went from one town to the next, supporting myself by cooking, cleaning, and the occasional flute playing in any of the taverns that needed extra help, and Innkeepers in Skyrim always need extra help."
"You seem to be doing well for yourself." the Harbinger said as he took a long draft of his mead.
"I do alright. Is not the most lavish lifestyle, but it puts food in my belly and a roof over my head."
"You must be popular in the Taverns," the young Nord said. "Especially with the men."
"I have my run-ins with the occasional pigs putting their hands where they don't belong, but nothing to serious."
The two Nords continued conversing with one another for twenty more minutes before the doors behind them burst open and a small group of rowdy Nords walked in. They sat down at the tables near the hearth, ranting and raving about their apparent successful purge of a large bandit gang. The Harbinger grinned.
Mercs, small timers by the looks of it.
The group of sell-swords consisted of four warriors, all male. Three of the men wore simple hide and leather armor and carried iron swords on their hips. Their leader however sported a very impressive set of full dwarven armor, helmet included. The Harbinger found that rather amazing considering the rarity of the armor and overall difficulty of finding or crafting an entire set, either he'd found stolen it or had somehow saved up enough coin to buy him a full set.
"Hey, barkeep!" one of the men yelled. "A round of your finest ale on the double, and a beef roast on the side, I wanna live it up!"
The Innkeeper muttered something incoherent before turning his attention to the barmaid. "Come here Lynly, I need your help."
The Harbinger gave the barmaid a knowing look. "So, your names Lynly is it?"
The woman smiled. "Aye, it is." she answered as she rose from her seat. "Well it was nice chatting with you, but I must return to my duties."
The Harbinger gave a light nod. Lynly gave him one last smile before she turned and went back to her work. The young Nord slouched back in his chair and returned to his own thoughts, namely the thought of his comrades in Jorrvaskr. It had been a few days since his sudden departure and he was starting to wonder about how things were going at the old hall. It wasn't like him to suddenly run off like he did but with all the strange dreams and voices he'd been hearing, he felt that the Greybeards were the only ones who could give him some kind of answer, which they never did. He let out a low growl before finishing off the last of his mead and placing the tankard on the table. A loud belch erupted from his mouth earning him confused stares from the four mercs and the Innkeeper, Lynly covered her own mouth to keep herself from laughing out loud.
The four mercenaries rolled their beady eyes and returned to their noisy celebration. The farmers and locals of the town started pouring in the tavern and began filling up the vacant seats and benches. The Harbinger had just started to rise from his seat when an empty bottle of mead hit him on his left temple. He turned, a single hand over the area of his head that had been hit, and saw the four mercenaries absently tossing empty mead bottles in his direction. Normally, the Harbinger would have simply shrugged it off and let the men be, but today was not one of those days.
The anger and frustration that had been growing inside him finally reached its peak… he needed something or someone to give vent to his rage, and the four mercenaries were the perfect pick. He picked up the bottle that struck him and casually sauntered over to the table where the sell-swords sat. The leader was in the middle of some clearly made up story about how he had single-handedly taken out a large group of forsworn and two Hagravens over in The Reach, if that were true, his armor would have the tell-tale signs of burn and claw markings.
The Harbinger took the bottle he held and slammed it onto the table were the bandits were sitting, causing them to practically jump out of their skin. One of the men turned to glare at the young Nord.
"Hey! What in the name of Oblivion is your problem?"
"Watch where you throw your garbage next time, fools." the Harbinger growled, making sure they heard the venom in his words.
"I don't know who you think you are kid, but you'd better watch your tongue," another of the mercenaries warned. "Do you have any idea who your talking to?"
The Harbinger looked the man square in the eyes. "By the looks you lot, nobody special."
The tavern patrons were all watching the scene intently, waiting to see what would happen next. Some of the more drunken patrons began to place bets on which one of the mercenaries would be the first to teach the foolish young Nord a lesson.
"Hey, one hundred gold on the sell-swords!"
"Two hundred for me! That kids gonna get it good!"
"You sure suck at picking your fights kid!"
The Harbinger stood motionless, never uttering a single word even as the patrons and mercenaries mocked and jeered him. A tiny smile spread across his lips as he remembered the first time he entered Jorrvaskr over a month ago. The situation he was in now was very similar to the one he was in a month ago when he first met the members of the Companions, before he became their Harbinger. He remembered how Vilkas, Skjor, and most of the other members had instantly labeled him as a milk-drinker. The only exceptions were Aela, Farkas, and Kodlak White-Mane himself. Aela and Farkas waited until after his test with Vilkas to judge his worth, saying that it was unfair to pass judgment on someone who hadn't yet shown what they could do in battle, Farkas agreed with her. But Kodlak saw something in the young warrior that none of the Companions did, something that would later define his character as a person as well as a warrior, something that would inevitably lead Kodlak to pass the title of "Harbinger" to the young warrior. No one ever asked what it was Kodlak saw in the boy, mainly because the wisdom and judgment was never called into question.
Though they never called Kodlak's judgment into question, many of Whiteruns most renowned warriors and the Jarls of the other holds had often openly mocked the young Nord in the beginning, saying that he was to young and inexperienced to lead the Companions. The Harbinger never cared about what the other Jarls or warriors of the hold had to say about him or his age, all he cared for was bringing honor to the Companions and his allies. The young Nord's thoughts were interrupted when one of the four mercenaries stepped up to him.
"Whats with that idiotic smile, huh kid?" the man said, placing a hand on the hilt of his blade.
The Harbinger's smile grew even wider, the idiots were completely unaware of the danger they were in. "I'm not suprised that a mercenary group is this brave when they outnumber someone. This tends to happen amongst fools who cant tell when they're outmatched."
The mercenaries and patrons all threw their heads back and burst into a hysterical laughter, the only exception was Lynly and the Innkeeper who looked on with worried stares. The Harbinger stood motionless, never flexing a single muscle, maintaining his stoical appearance. The leader of the mercenaries stood and started to circle the young Nord, eyeing him like a bird of prey before it moves in for the kill.
"So, you think you can take us on at once huh?" the leader said. "Either you're really brave, or incredibly stupid."
"Only one way to find out."
As fast as a lightning spell the Harbinger threw a straight right punch that impacted with the leaders nose and followed up his assault with a devastating left hook that floored his opponent. Another of the mercenaries let out a loud battle as he rushed forward and threw a wild overhand right. The Harbinger skillfully caught the mans strike with his left hand and countered with a powerful elbow to the mans throat that sent him reeling and left him gasping for air. The other two grunts looked on in disbelief as two members of their group were taken out and tossed aside like common bandits.
The tavern filled with a deathly silence as the patrons looked on in shock and awe at the unfolding brawl, everyone had expected the group of mercenaries to be the ones dishing out serious punishment to the young Nord for stupidly challenging them, but the roles had been completely reversed. The two mercenaries left standing exchanged nervous glances, unsure whether they should run out the Inn and face a beat down from their leader later or stay and get beaten now. Either choice was bad no matter how they looked at it.
"Wait! Just wait a minute!" one of the mercenaries cried out as he held his hands up in a defensive manner. "We get it, you were right, you're stronger than us! We've learned our lesson, so just…don't hurt us, please."
The Harbinger glared at the two mercenaries, his frightening scowl never leaving his visage. "Humph, you're just like the rest of the trash I deal with on a daily basis." he spat. "You act like the greatest warriors this side of Skyrim when you face a opponent weaker than you are or greatly outnumber them. But the second your opponent gains the advantage, you crumble and beg for mercy. And you call yourselves warriors? You'd be better off farming for a living." he turned to face the tavern patrons. "No offence."
"None taken." they said, still in shock over the whole incident.
"Now, here's what I want you lot to do." the Harbinger started as he walked over to the mercenary leader and lifted him up by his collar until the man was level to his face. "I want you to pack all the crap you bastards have and get out of here…now."
"And why should I listen to you, kid." the leader managed to say through his pain, an impressive feat considering how hard he'd been hit. His defiance was shut down as the Harbinger took the mans index finger and pulled it back until it snapped like a twig. The mercenary leader let out a bloodcurdling scream of pain, writhing on the floor in pain and agony.
The Harbinger shot the man a deadly look. "Because if you don't listen to me, I'm going to break the rest of your fingers one by one…slowly."
The two mercenaries who were still on their feet rushed over and scooped up their leader and still unconscious comrade and promptly hurried out of the Inn. Satisfied with himself, the Harbinger walked back to his seat, gathered his belongings and headed for the door. He reached into one of the small satchels on his side, pulled out a bag of gold and tossed it to the Inn keeper.
"For all the trouble." he said as he walked out the door.
Lynly rushed after the young Nord, wanting to speak with him before he left to his next destination. "Wait, milord! I beg a moment of your time before you depart."
The Harbinger turned on his heels and locked eyes with her. She expected him to still have the fearsome scowl spread across his visage but was relieved to see he'd returned to his more friendly look.
"Of course." he answered in a friendly tone of voice. "What do you need?"
"Well I'm… not really sure," she said, unsure of why she had followed the young warrior out in the first place. "I just wanted to ask you if you were ever going to drop by Ivartsead again."
The Harbinger's thoughts returned to his conversation with the Greybeard Arngeir. With everything that had happened to him in the small farming community he honestly wanted nothing more than leave and never return. Ivarstead had been proven to be nothing but trouble for him, Greybeards notwithstanding, and he honestly wanted to put it far behind him. But as he thought more about what the old monk told him, the more he started to believe it, that he would find the answer he was seeking on his own terms. He didn't know if he was ready to find the answer he sought or if he even wanted to find them, but he knew in that instant that if he did, he would be ready to face whatever obstacle they brought forth.
The Harbinger looked Lynly in the eyes and smiled. "Yes," he finally answered. "I'll defiantly be back."
Lynly beamed at the young Nord and smiled one of the most beautiful smiles the Harbinger had ever seen, and he promptly returned the gesture. As the Harbinger turned and started for the road to Whiterun, Lynly called out after him.
"Milord, just… one last question. If you don't mind."
The Harbinger turned around and looked over in her direction. "Of course."
"Well, I want to know, what name do you go by?"
The question caught the young Nord off-guard. It had been years since he had last uttered a single letter in his name, not even his allies at Jorrvaskr knew his true name. When he first joined the Companions he had usually been referred to as 'whelp' or 'recruit' by the more senior members, particularly Skjor. He still remembered the reaction Vilkas had when Kodlak had asked him his name and he responded with a venomous "None of your business."
For him, his name held a very dark and painful past, one that he didn't wish to revisit. Skjor had, on multiple occasions tried to force the Harbinger to reveal his true name to him and the rest of the Companions, but to avail. He was absolutely adamant about keeping his identity a secret from everyone, including Farkas, which was strange considering how close the two were.
The Harbinger sheepishly began scratching the back of his head and gave Lynly a nervous glance. "Well...I've never really told anyone who I am." he said, feeling slightly guilty. "Its not you, its just that…I cast away who I once was years ago. My past, the things I've done, the people I've hurt…I just want to put it all behind me, and my name is one of those things. Im sorry, but I cant tell you who I am."
"I understand." Lynly said, titling her fingers a bit. "I didn't mean to pry, I just wanted to know so I could refer to you as something other than 'milord'
"There is something you can call me." the young Nord told her. Lynly's demeanor lightened up bit. "Just call me Harbinger."
With that, the Harbinger turned on his heels and walked off down the road to Whiterun, leaving behind a very confused Lynly.
"Harbinger? Wait… he cant be…" her eyes widened as she realized who the person she had just been talking to was. She beamed as she realized she had been speaking to none other than the renowned Harbinger of the Companions, a great honor to anyone who was lucky enough to cross paths with the man. She quickly snapped back into reality and headed back to the tavern to continue her days work.
-Three hours later-
"Well, it looks like the shoe is on the other foot now eh boys?"
The Harbinger silently cursed to himself as he watched the Mercenary leader from the Inn and his band of about twenty-five heavily armed and armored men and women surround him from all sides. Apparently, the sell-swords group consisted of more than four ill trained fighters, the Harbinger took note of at least five adept level mages within their ranks. He also spotted about three archers in the very back of the multitude of enemies, they would be a problem if he didn't deal with them quickly. He turned his attention back to the Dwarven armor clad leader who stood grinning from ear to ear with his arms crossed over his chest, he was clearly taking great pleasure in watching as his enemy was surrounded on all sides with nowhere to go.
"Not so smug now, are you!" one of the sell-swords shouted
"You fools still don't get it, do you?" the Harbinger spat, gaining him deadly glares from the large group of sell-swords.
Angered at the Nords taunting, the mercenary leader drew his large Dwemer great sword. "You little… you still taunt us, even now!? In case you haven't realized this yet, you're outnumbered twenty-five to one!"
"And even outnumbered as I am… I'm still going to kill every last one of you."
"Pretty bold words coming from a dead man!" one of the sell-swords shouted and he waved his sword in a threatening manner. "Just face it kid, you're dead no matter how you look at it."
The Harbinger let a small chuckle pass his lips. He gazed over the large group of cut throats that surrounded him. They were truly a ragtag bunch, that was certain. Most of them wore simple fur and leather armor, while the other more experienced ones sported the same steel armor he himself wore. They were sloppy and disorganized in their attempt at surrounding him as he saw four openings he could have easily made a break for, but he was not planning on running away, in fact, it was just the opposite. The Harbinger threw his head back in laughter as his plan for killing every one of the mercenaries began to form in his mind, they would never suspect an attack like the one he was preparing for them.
"Is death funny!?" the leader snapped.
The Harbinger quickly regained his composure. "No, it isn't… but I have no intention of dying." The young warrior raised his right hand above his head, snapped his fingers, and unleashed hell.
Large explosions detonated one after another, sending the shredded bodies of their victims sailing through the air before hitting the ground with a loud thud. The Harbinger watched as the rest of the Fire Runes he stealthily set were set off by the now panicking group of mercenaries who were running around in confusion.
"When in Oblivion did he-" the mans sentence was cut short as a bolt of lighting struck him dead center in his face and burned it to a cinder. The two remaining Archers notched their arrows and fired at the young Nord. Already on the move, the Harbinger sent blast after blast of powerful Chain Lighting spells at his opponents, the sheer destructive force of the arcane spell sending all who were hit reeling backwards.
Thinking they could overwhelm him with their numbers, the five mages began to fire their own elemental based spells towards the young warrior. The Harbinger threw up his left had and summoned his most powerful ward shield that repelled each of the spells thrown at him. The young warrior quickly retaliated. Summoning magicka from the dregs of his being, he unleashed his most powerful lighting based spell : Thunderbolt. The spell hit the mage who stood in the middle of the five, instantly disintegrating the man and sent his comrades hurtling in different directions. The Harbinger released three more blasts of chain lightning spells before his magicka made an audible scraping noise and the electricity in his hands fizzed out, something the mercenaries took note of.
"He's out of magicka!" one of the sell-swords shouted, relief and excitement in his voice. "Charge him! We still have superior numbers!"
The young Nord smirked at the arrogant mercenary's snide remark. Hadn't they realized that numbers were meaningless to him? This apparently wasn't the case as four of the sell-swords closest to him charged forward shouting battle cries as they ran. The Harbinger drew his swords and readied himself for the assault, tactfully planning out which of the sell-swords he would kill first. The first mercenary, a large, brutish looking Orc, came first. The Osmir thrust his blade forward, hell-bent on running the foolish Nord through. Expecting this, the Harbinger sidestepped and cleaved the Orc's hand from his forearm, blood flting from the wound. The Orc clutched the stump of what had been his hand, screaming bloody murder before the Nord's second blade found its way to his throat, killing him instantly.
The next mercenary, a lithe looking Dunmer, charged forward, swing his blade around in a wild erratic manner. The Harbinger grinned, the man obviously lacked any real skill, hence his sloppy and undisciplined attacks. The young warrior skillfully dodged each assault, watching and waiting for an instant kill opening on the inexperienced Elf.
"Come on, you milk-drinker!" the ash colored man bellowed, feeling more confident of himself than he should've. "Fight me! Just try to take my life!"
"As you wish." the Harbinger blocked the mans downward strike and responded by sliding his blade across the mans neck. The Dunmer grabbed at his throat in a futile attempt to keep his blood from leaving his body, he fell to the floor and let out one final gasp before he ceased to live. The Harbinger spun around just in time to avoid a battle axe being swung at his head. Growling, the young warrior returned the favor by driving the blade of his katana through the man's skull, the mercenary's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he ceased to move.
The Harbinger booted the man off his blade and darted forward, sword in each hand, and attacked two nearby enemies. The men, thrown off and surprised by the Nord's sudden offensiveness, barley managed to lift up their weapons as the he fell upon them. The Harbinger was a blur of impossibly fast sword movements and the mercenaries found themselves unable to keep up with the relentless assault before the young Nord ended their existence with a final slash to their throats, a fountain of blood erupting from their necks.
"We're routed!" one of the sell-swords shouted, horrified by the slaughter of his comrades. "Fall back!"
The Harbinger glared at the retreating men, his eyes filled with an uncontrollable bloodlust. His breathing was becoming heavier and more ragged with each passing second, his skinned itched, and he felt himself losing touch with everything around him. He felt as if his entire body had been set engulfed in a gout of fire, his fingernails were hurting and his teeth were starting to bleed. Something feral and vicious was now scraping at his brain, pounding against his ribcage in an attempt to break free.
The Harbinger smiled a frightening, terrifying smile, one that was never meant to cross the lips of a normal man. He knew what was happening, he knew all to well the feeling that was now beginning to take over his being-the beast within him had been awakened… and was now begging to be released. He didn't fight the urge. An earsplitting roar ripped through the battlefield, terrifying what remained of the mercenary group. They all watched in horror as the young Nord's body began snap and twist itself into a beast from the darkest corners of Skyrim.
His body ripped and torn at itself. Large claws formed where his hands had once been, and black fur covered his body… he was transforming into a werewolf. The Mercenaries could only stare as the beast slowly rose to its feet and turned to face them. He glared at them with hungry eyes, his lips curling up into what appeared to be a smile, it had been to long since his last transformation and he was intent on savoring the moment of his kill. The Harbinger could sense the fear coming from the mercenaries, it practically radiated off their bodies in large fumes. The Harbinger simply glared at the men, unmoving, waiting for one of them to try and make an escape. He found it more enjoyable when his prey tried to escape, tried being the key word.
As if answering his silent prayers, one of the men made a mad dash up a hill, the other mercenaries soon following. The Harbinger let out a blood chilling roar and bolted towards them, intent on killing the whole lot of them. There were times where even in his beast form he could show mercy, times where he could willingly let his prey go…but today was not one of those days. Today…he would kill every one of the arrogant bastards for daring to cross his path. The Harbinger quickly caught one of the Sell-swords and promptly ripped both his arms off before tearing out his throat. He charged forward and captured another, slashing his claws across the mans belly and spilling his guts onto the ground.
It wasn't long until screams filled the sky and the road had been painted red with their blood.
A/N: Let me start by thanking everyone who reviewed my story, you guys are the whole reason I keep going. That being said, I sincerely apologize for the late chapter and well…the chapter itself. My heart really wasn't in this chapter at all, in some parts yes, but other than that I didn't like writing this particular chapter. I hope you guys can forgive me for this(in my mind)failure of a chapter and overall lateness of updating. But the upside is that the next chapter I'm planning will be much more interesting and a lot better, I promise. Anyway, reviews and Pms are welcome. Till the next chapter.
Zero out
P.S. I just noticed i say chapter alot...