Beneath the Branded Flag – Chapter 1
Haknir loved the sea breeze flow through his dark hair, he loved the ability to command his ship threw the open waves, travel where he wanted. He loved the view; the mountainside in the far distance, where it reaches the blue sky. He loved the treasure he found.
He also loved branding his crew with a hot iron, but he was in a good mood today.
Just last week, Haknir had stopped off at Dawnport, killed a few sailors, bedded a few pretty things, but also got word off an old seadog about some old treasure that had fallen to the bottom of the say in Pilgrim's trench, a graveyard of destroyed ships off the northern coast of Skyrim. Of course after that, Haknir took the ma's head from his shoulders, but he thanked him nonetheless.
By using his head as a football.
Haknir Death-Brand was a pirate. The pirate. He was a man of legend and left quivering wrecks of men whenever he walked past. He was feared, and it was said if you even looked at him, you should start start making your peace with the gods. Haknir had been alive for hundreds of years, which led many to believe he made a pact with the Daedric Prince Mehrunes Dagon, who left a small scar on his cheek, the 'Death-Brand.
Of course he did make a pact with the Lord of Destruction. Haknir had a chess game with the Prince, won and then bedded his plaything, before leaving a disgusting message on the chessboard.
"How close are we to Pilgrim's trench?" Death-Brand barked to his first mate, a hardy Nord named Holfgir.
"Only a few miles sir. We'll be there next dawn!" the Nord shouted down, peering from the top of the rigging."
"Hmm, not fast enough.", the pirate turned to another sailor, and Imperial named Octavius, next to him, "Flay him alive, we're taking too long. Then take his place."
The Imperial nodded, and started up the rigging. He knew better than to ignore the orders of Haknir Death-Brand. Now, precisely everything was going according to the Nord's plan. He would find the treasure, take it all for himself, bed some more women and then loot some dead bandits after.
And burn more of his men.
The next day, at the first light of sun, Haknir got out of his fine velvet bed and opened his quarters' door. Rays of heat blasted in, and beautiful birds sung in the sky, reminding all those around that this was to be a good day. And it would be. Today was the day Haknir Death-Brand would get his treasure.
"How long now?" he asked to his new first mate.
"Not long now, Cap'n. Only an hour or so!" a voice shouted back.
"Good," Haknir nodded, "And how long from there to Solitude?" Haknir shouted, but no response came. "I said how long you fat bastard?!" Haknir lost his temper, stabbing a dagger into a wall nearby, but still no voice came back. "Bloody Imperials!" Haknir shouted, climbing the rigging himself.
But when he climbed to the top, nothing was there, but a pile of bones and dust.
"What in Akatosh's name..?" he muttered. He looked down, but where his crew once stood, only mounds of bones rested in their wake. Suddenly, a large ripping sound came from seemingly all around, and streaks of lightning filled the sky. Dark, brooding clouds flew overhead, casting a storm of rain and harsh wind in all directions. The sound of rumbling thunder was overwhelming, and the entire ship swayed side to side, each swing causing it to nearly fall into the now-black sea below. With one sharp jolt, Haknir was thrown from the Crow's Nest to the slippery decks below. Then, one of the three main sails ripped in half, crashing below. Haknir barely dodged a large wooden post that came down on him, and stood up, only to be tossed to the floor again. He crawled up the stairs at the stern of the ship and took control of the wheel, but it was stuck in place. Haknir pulled with as much strength as he could muster, but the wheel would simply not budge. He then heard yet another ripping sound, and only a few hundred metres in front of the ship, a colossal whirlpool formed, and the ship teetered on it's edge. But just before the ship fell in, the whirlpool turned into a portal. A large circle of fiery orange covered the opening to the watery pit, and the ship crashed in, head first.
But instead of breaking under the waters surface, the ship was flying. Flying through dry wind, as Haknir looked beyond the ship; he was shocked. He was no longer in Skyrim. Below him was an arid wasteland, sand covered everything. A few sharp mountains loomed in the distance, scarely touching the red sky. Several large animal bones dotted the dunes, like a rash Haknir once got below decks after he bedded a girl in Riften.
Then, the ship hit the ground.
Hard.
Incredibly hard.
So hard it's painful just reading about it.
The galleon shattered upon impact. The bow and stern made a sharp creaking sound as it snapped off. Wooden planks flew in the air, and dust flew out in every direction. Several personal belongings lay strewn on the remains of the ship. The wreck was in thousands of pieces, and Haknir felt like he was too. Excruciating pain ran across the pirate's entire back, legs, arms and neck. He felt like someone had hit his head with a warhammer, and rolled onto his back, which only made it worse. The only reason he survived, Haknir guessed, was his enchanted Stalhrim armour, which he forged himself. He looked around again, the low sound of wind whooshing through the air filled his ears.
Haknir stood up after half an hour of pain. He still hurt, but most of it had subsided. With both hands on his unique scimitars, Bloodscythe and Soulrender, he stalked on, through the dusty air, searching for anything useful, in wherever the hell he was.