Soldin

"We were stood there, in the chaos of an ending battle, closing in on the remaining Bandits when all of a sudden this fire mage came out of nowhere, roaring her head off like a madwoman, flames dancing around her at her command. Those we had yet to kill scattered to make way for her; you could tell by the rags she wore that she was one of them- you know, those tanned leather pieces with bone and skeletal necklaces that all bandits seem to wear? Well anyway, it was obvious that this woman was some kind of leader to these bandits for they immediately followed her every command, renewed hope in their eyes."

"With a new wave of strength they came at us, fire theirs to tame. Yet we held fast. There's no magic or blade in the land that can hold back this sword." To demonstrate, Soldin half drew his iron great sword from its sheath and let it glimmer in the light for a moment, resting it on his lap for all to admire. "We charged in there and by Talos we showed them what Champions are made of. Blood stained the ground that day, just blood of criminals and cretins. Even the fire witch bled like a man when you stuck her full of holes."

Leaning forward, resting his arms on his thighs, Soldin shifted in his seat to get comfortable and then grinned at his audience. They were gathered around him in a tight circle, some taller youths stood at the back craning their necks to look over and listen to him. "I tell you, I never saw anything as ferocious as that fire mage; she was no average, untrained mer I can tell you. Wizened, she looked like a Drugar almost, save there was no rot on her flesh and her eyes were wide and manic. The flames burned without fuel, without rules and as unpredictable as summer rains; I'd seen her burn three of my fellow Champions to nothing but a pile of ash or seared flesh, but I gripped my sword and I ran."

"When she saw me, she shrieked like a banshee, making a noise that was something awful. It drew the attention of the surrounding bandits, who all then rushed to defend their elder, but I kept going. Cutting one of the bandits down was the easy part, but next I had to roll to the side to dodge past a wall of fire, easily as high as the tallest Orc. I thought for sure that day would be the day I finally entered Sovngarde, yet when I brought my great sword down through the air and cut that witch in two, the whole of the field seemed to fall silent."

"Moments later the rest of the Bandits were scattered and running; it didn't take us long to round them up and reunite them with their fallen brethren." Around him, Soldin's audience seemed impressed, the younger members exchanging excited grins with one another whilst the elders were more considerate, the odd sceptic among them frowning. "Following that day we drank and sang till light had come and gone again, but nothing, no whore or rich wine compared to that battle."

A particularly eager young boy in his early years of adulthood was stood before Soldin. He was watching him with a look of sheer delight, entirely captured by the story, his eyes unblinking. Smiling softly at him especially, Soldin leant closer to him and met his eyes. "The conquest brought peace to all those who had been plagued by the bandit raids and brought revenge to many aggrieved families, but by Talos the battle; never has such justice been served in such heated glory! I expect they still sing songs of it, even now."

"I want to be a Champion," the boy before him announced suddenly, his face glowing with sweat and heat, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide. "I want to bring Skyrim and the Nords glory, and I want to fight glorious battles and have songs sung about me." Soldin broke into boisterous laughter and he clapped the lad on the back, sending him stumbling for he was scrawny and without the muscle to resist.

"I'm sure you will lad, for I give you my blessing."

The evening had so far been perfect; a fine bard with golden hair had sung a song just for him when he'd told her a story of his battles and now here he was, sat in Candlehearth Hall, nestled into the centre of snowy Windhelm. Gathered around him were adoring listeners, youths drinking in his every word and adults contemplating his tales and wishing they were him. It was his kind of evening.

"You there," a deep, authoritative female voice called out from outside the ring of admiring fans, "I know you." Striding forth, cutting through those who had clustered around him came a woman. She was red of hair, with earthy paint smeared over her face as a form of camouflage and her attire consisted of thick boiled leather pieces that on her lower half were separate, threaded together so her legs were completely free to move. She stood with a slight crouch in her back and her face was hard-pressed but her eyes wild, moving quickly whilst still managing to see and judge all.

Coming to stand at Soldin's side, she rested her hand on the hilt of her dagger and looked him up and down with a critical eye. "And I know you," Soldin replied a little gruffly, recognising her and not liking it, "Aela the Huntress, if I am not mistaken."

"You are not," she confirmed tersely, now raising her eyes to meet his as she frowned. "I am of the Champions and know that you have no right to stake a claim as one of their members."

Souring greatly as this woman intruded on his time of revelling in his own achievements, Soldin glowered sullenly at her. "I spoke true; I fought as one of the Champions in the battle against the Bandits down beyond Whiterun and it was a battle of great glory and a victory to us." He tried to use the term "us" to soften her and get her to see him as one of her own but she was having none of it.

"Do not patronise me drunkard," she snapped at him, the hand on the dagger tightening as she regarded him with a look of great distaste. Closing back in around them to watch, Soldin's previously adoring audience were now scrutinising him, gossiping amongst themselves. As always, it seemed people were just as eager to pick him apart as they were to rejoice with him. Sycophantic brown-nosers; he ought to teach them all a lesson they'd never forget.

Twisting her nose at him, Aela stepped around so that she was stood directly before him. "I know you, Soldin of Whiterun. I know of your shame, of how you were banished from the Champions and that now the very idea of you claiming glory as one of us is a sick joke. You are to revoke all claim to our principles and legacy, or I will cut your lying tongue from your throat." With that she drew the dagger and the crowd whispered in excitement for it was clear that she was not bluffing.

Jumping up from his seat, Soldin knocked her back a few feet and glared at her in outrage. "I fought your battles, I would have gladly given my life for everything your order stood for, and over one misunderstanding you cast me out! There was no justice in it and I will not allow it to strip me of my truths," He bellowed back at her, the alcohol and anger mixing together as one to form a fury unguided by logic or restraint.

Straightening, her face now twisted by a feral snarl, Aela pointed the dagger in his direction. "You are a disgrace to the Champions and the reason why people misjudge us as barbarians; you think of nothing but yourself and your own glory. We champions are about something of higher importance." She straightened her back and looked haughty.

"Princess, you are a band of dogs scrapping over meat; I brought glory to you all," Soldin sneered back at her.

The nickname "princess" appeared to have tipped the scales however as an unbridled growl ripped out of the woman's throat and she jabbed the dagger in his direction. "You dare, after all we built you up to be, and after all you did and ruined?" Inhaling slowly, she drew back and narrowed her eyes at him, dropping the dagger to her side, a cruel smile forming on her lips. "You speak of this unstoppable sword of yours; very well, I challenge you to test this sword and its strengths against me outside, where we may fight our cause with actions instead of petty words," she challenged fearlessly, every bit the warrior huntress her title predicted her to be.

"It would be my pleasure," Soldin bit back aggressively at her, elbowing his way through the people to follow after her as she led the way out. No fear touched him; only anger tainted by bloodlust, and a certain kind of warrior's joy began to form in the pits of his stomach. Finally, a fight. Despite these times of war, people seemed so picky about their fights. Racism was now apparently a thing to be frowned upon; how mer could be allowed to invade and inhabit the Nord realm Soldin would never understand. No longer could he attack a man for what kind of scum he was without getting an earful from some do-gooder or activist.

"You intend to fight me with a dagger?" Soldin jeered as several people from the tavern hurried out into the cold to watch, most men drunk on too much wine, their slurred yells forming the perfect backdrop for a fight.

"Does my confidence unnerve you barbarian?" Aela smirked, her body language mirroring the confidence she spoke of.

"Hardly, little girl. I just wished to do this with honour." Aela spat at his feet when he said that and quipped once again at him about how he lacked a single shred of honour. He felt no need to hold back; if he killed her, so what? He was no longer a Champion, it would not matter.

Those gathered seemed to see the problem however, remarking of such in the form of bitter jibes. Aela was not slight, but she was still armed solely with a dagger and her armour was designed for quick, clever fighting. Opposite her stood Soldin, a towering Nord man of over seven foot. He might be in his late forties, but he had the strength -evident in the size of his muscles- to show he could still swing a sword. His armour was not ornate but it was strong, forged from thick polished steel and moulded together to cover most of his body, leather gauntlets and bracers accompanying it.

Still, the onlookers were drunk and did not care so much about the decency of the fight, rather more about that there was one. When they cheered, they cheered for blood and violence, not for cleverness or wit. Soldin was naturally the favourite. "May Sovngarde have more mercy on you than I can find in myself to give," Aela prayed for him, apparently just as comfortable with killing him as he was with her.

In plain view she launched herself at him, starting the armed street brawl; they were lucky no guards were about to arrest them for public fighting. Trying to cleave her apart with his great sword and end this so he could return to drinking and women, Soldin hauled his weapon upwards, aiming at where she had been seconds ago. Unlike him however she was swift and long gone before his sword reached its target Amongst the drunken stupor it took his mind a while to catch up, and so by the time he was turning to relocate her she was already too close to him for it to be safe.

Cold metal touched to the unshaven skin of his neck. "For Godrel and Hrier," Aela whispered to him as he froze, realising he was about to die.

Before the Huntress could slit his throat however the heavens seemed to shatter into two, an almighty clap of roaring thunder echoing through the city. "What in the name of Talos-?" As Soldin stumbled back, gazing up at the sky, he realised it had not been thunder that had shaken through them all, distracting the woman who was about to bring him death and thus saving his life.

"Dragons," Aela breathed, lingering in a moment of awe before all hell broke loose.