The Magician's Shout
Styrnbjorn panicked. That was a true to life dragon, from the legends and the stories. Throughout his travels to the nearby cities he'd heard rumors of attacks at Helgen and outside Whiterun. Hell! He'd even heard rumors of a "Dragonborn" appearing and slaying dragons! But Styrnbjorn had simply laughed to himself at the time. Nords were always getting too rapped up in their legends. But this wasn't a legend.
Legends don't burn down homesteads.
As the dragon drew closer, Styrnbjorn yelled for Tiren to come close to him, and then began to cast spell after spell, and enchantment after enchantment, upon the two of them. Tiren was dressed in his simple brown tunic and slacks, not very protective armor, but Styrnbjorn could make it fire resistant at the least.
But these enchantments. Without an enchanter's table or soul gems. They were sucking away his life force faster than ever before.
He knew he had to save some amount of magicka for fighting, so he only casted one more spell. The strongest armor spell he could muster, Ebonyflesh, coated Tiren's body with a thin blue hue.
Tiren was terrified. He just stood there staring at the beast while it flew towards them getting closer and closer. He had never seen anything more incredible, and yet more terrifying. He'd heard the stories and read the books; dragons were a major part of Skyrim's lore and legend. But he never thought…
Tiren felt a light tap in the back of his head. He turned to see his father holding his hand. He'd apparently smacked the back of his head, forgetting the solid magic armor that he'd cast around him.
"It's a good thing I don't swing a sword," Styrnbjorn thought, "Or I'd be crippled for this fight."
Tiren looked into his father's eyes and looked for the fear. He searched for the fear that was in his own. He didn't see it, only determination.
"Tiren. Run to my tower and get my staff. It is our ONLY chance of beating this thing!" Styrnbjorn ordered.
Tiren nodded and ran, still struggling to believe what was happening. But Styrnbjorn needed not concern himself with that now. Now he must fight a dragon.
"Let's see what my ancestor's made such a fuss about.."
Tiren flew up the stairs and into his father's enchanter's tower, a place he'd only been in a handful of times, all without permission. Such a rich tapestry of magical artifacts as gems, potions, and weapons to be enchanted lined the walls. But up on the wall above his enchanter's table hung his staff, Stormfire, and Tiren immediately grabbed it. Without thinking, on his way out he grabbed a small Orcish shortsword and some potions as well, figuring it was better than nothing.
But as Tiren was about to head outside again, he heard a second roar. This one closer and much louder than the first. Was he really going to do this?
Was he going to fight a dragon?
Tiren couldn't move. He couldn't bring himself to face the beast. But then he heard another cry.
This time it was his father's.
And with that, Tiren snapped back into reality and sprinted out the door.
Styrnbjorn didn't boast incredible reserves of magicka. He didn't cast spells with overwhelming amounts of force. He wasn't gifted like the Elves or the Bretons.
He was efficient.
Styrnbjorn had spent his entire life learning to channel his magic in the absolute most efficient way possible, therefore maximizing his use out of every bit of his own magicka. He was a master of casting powerful spells with perfect technique, therefore moving past his handicap.
And that factor was being put to the test now, as he was even weaker now then usual from the enchantments and spells he'd used on himself and Tiren.
The dragon though, was at no loss for power. The dragon dove at Styrnbjorn with incredible speed, and once he was close unleashed a mighty stream of fire before pulling up and circling around for another pass. Styrnbjorn had just enough time to react and charge his ward.
As the dragon came around for another dive, Styrnbjorn attacked. In a flurry of motion he threw two powerful fireballs, and then threw both hands out at the dragon and dual-casted a mighty lightning bolt.
Through a swift maneuver the dragon rolled and dodged the incoming fireballs, only to be struck hard in the jaw by the lightning. The beast's neck jerked back, and it pulled up to hover above the wizard.
Styrnbjorn relished the opportunity for a still target and fired. Twin ice spikes launched for the dragon's eyes, and while they missed their mark, they forced the dragon to close its eyes in a flinch. Taking advantage of this, Styrnbjorn gathered energy and used telekinesis to grab onto a boulder underneath the hovering dragon. Then with a mighty grunt hurled the boulder straight up, slamming the beast in its softer underbelly. The strike had a notable affect on the dragon, as it appeared to knock the wind out of the beast, causing it t drop to the ground with a loud boom as it fell down on all fours.
Tiren, having been watching up till now in amazement, was about to cheer. The dragon was wounded!
"We have a chance!" He thought.
Tiren ran to his father with a newfound confidence in his heart. He was going to give him his staff so that the finishing blow might be delivered. But within two steps Tiren's heart sank.
Styrnbjorn collapsed to his hands and knees as well. It was almost as though he and the dragon were mimicking each other directly. Styrnbjorn coughed roughly, and looked to the ground to see his own blood lie there.
Styrnbjorn cursed. He was too exhausted to finish this fight with his own magic, where was his staff? He looked around desperately to see Tiren holding Stormfire, and watched him launch it towards him with his telekinesis. Styrnbjorn caught it, pleased to have his weapon back in his hands again. At first glance by anyone it was a normal staff, but a true mage could see different.
Stormfire was an enchanter's masterpiece. It was a long rod painted a midnight blue. On each end, it was infused with large, perfectly symmetrical gemstones from which the staff's magic flowed. On one end was a large sapphire, infused with the power of a storm's lightning. On the other was ruby, infused with the power of a sun's fire. The wood itself was taken from an ancient and powerful tree, descended from the Eldergleam, and was nigh indestructible by most magic or weapons.
Stormfire was Styrnbjorn's life's work, and had been with him for all of his most mighty of adventures.
And now it was truly time to put it to the test.
Styrnbjorn rose to his feet, and unleashed the full power of the staff's lightning on the beast. Streams of powerful bolts screamed from the staff. The dragon roared in pain as the bolts struck him, and Styrnbjorn could now see the beast physically weakening. He twirled the staff around and was about to launch his flame at the beast, when he noticed it begin to recoil it's neck for an attack.
Styrnbjorn, expecting a mighty flame, could not afford to be caught off guard. So he planted Stormfire into the ground in front of him and used both hands to dual-cast the strongest ward he could muster.
When the dragon released its attack, it cried out in the ancient tongue a mighty shout. Styrnbjorn couldn't make out the first two words over his son's scream. But the third rang loud and terrible.
"DAH!"
A wave of utter force launched Styrnbjorn flying back at an immense speed. He quickly slammed into a tree behind him with a loud thud. The only thing that rang louder to Tiren than that dragon's shout was the vicious crack as he watched his Father's spine break against the hard tree trunk.
Tiren dropped to his knees as he stared at his father. He couldn't tell whether he was unconscious or alive, but either way he was alone. Tiren had never felt more helpless.
Tiren heard the booming footsteps as the dragon walked towards him, and he looked up with tearful eyes to see the beast towering in front of him.
Author's note:
Shorter chapter, but bear with me. I wanted to emphasize Tiren's first dragon specifically.
I'll update soon! Favorite, review and follow!