Hola! This chapter starts at the same time as the game, with The Dragonborn tied up in the back of the cart. Enjoy!
Mzar POV
His back throbbed. Each beat of his heart caused the pain to spike, and then fade. He didn't care though. He knew he was lucky to be alive. He had fallen from a very high height. He knew that he had fell for at least ten seconds. He tried to remember what happened after falling, or what he had seen, but he guessed that he must've had some short-term memory loss.
He remembered what caused the fall, but not much after that. The Elder Scroll had teleported him, and the black dragon, to the top of a mountain. Whereas the dragon gracefully exited the portal, he was blasted from it.
He also remembered the experience with the dragon-shaped seal. It was still burned onto his chest. Luckily for him it didn't burn though. He was currently stuck in a cart with three Nords.
Two of them were dressed in rags, one in leather and blue cloth, and the other in furs and grey wool. The one wearing the grey woollen tunic had a gag in his mouth.
The one in armour, the blue cloth and leather, spoke up. He had a bruise on his jaw which slightly slurred his speech.
"Fucking High Elf scum" he spat at Mzar. A surge of anger pushed through him. He hated being confused with High Elves. Those pompous brats enraged him to no end, rudely enquiring about his Elder Scroll. He wasn't worried about it. Once it detected that nobody was in the Lexiconory it would automatically pack itself away in the sky dome.
Mzar glowered at the Nord. "The fuck do you think your looking at, you don't deserve to lay your eyes on me, Thalmor twat." Mzar spring forward, ramming his head into the Nord's nose. He gave a shout and leaned back. "I'm not an Altmer you imbecile, anyone could tell that."
"Explain your golden skin then" the Nord said arrogantly. He thought he had won.
"My skin is golden because I'm a Dwemer. And High Elves all have eyes that are a shade of gold. Mine are green." he responded.
The Nord laughed. "You humour me; I'd rather fight with the empire than believe an Altmer pretending he's dwarf-kin"
"Why is it so hard to believe I'm a Dwemer then?" He was positively curious. A trait of being born with Dwarven blood.
"Because the Dwarves have been extinct for almost 4,000 years!" The Nord exclaimed.
It was Mzar's turn to laugh. "Extinct? Are you joking? You must've been living under a rock if you think we've gone extinct."
The Nord looked at him incredulously, almost condescending. The look you would give someone who was mad.
Mzar felt an unfamiliar feeling take hold of him. He took a while to figure out what it was. Then it struck him. It was doubt. "When did the dwarves go 'extinct?" he asked. His tone had changed, it was breathless, a murmur.
The Nord sensed this and calmed down a little. He leaned forward, "The historians speculate that it was sometime around 1E 170. All that's left are their cities, and their machines."
Mzar's doubt increased, and is advanced Dwemer mind went to assembling his facts. He realised that Elder Scrolls didn't experience the effects of time, as the scroll that he cleaned never got dusty inside its casing. it only got dirty when it collected information, and that was in the form of magical residue, or when he transcribed it to the lexicon, when the Dwemer reading equipment traced along its edges.
"What year is it?" He asked the Nord.
"4E 201, 27th of Last Seed, I think, it's been a few days since I could measure the stars."
Mzar thought hard. According to this Nord, his species had gone extinct 30 years after he was last cleaning the Elder Scroll. He didn't know how long the eras had been between then and now, but he presumed they had been around 1000 years long each.
He was drawn back to his thoughts on how Elder Scrolls weren't affected by time. Perhaps he had been wrong, and Elder Scrolls could do more than ignore time. Perhaps they could influence it.
He knew that when Alduin the World Eater had been defeated by Felldir, he had completely vanished. What if he hadn't vanished, and had been sent forward in time to an unspecified date, and this would have affected the Scroll, effectively imprinting the date on it, and when Mzar touched the Scroll he was sent forward to the same time Alduin was.
It would explain the colossal black dragon he saw. He had read descriptions of Alduin and the dragon he saw matched them perfectly.
"That's impossible" he muttered quietly. His ruminations were interrupted by the sound of an Imperial voice piercing the air ahead of him.
"General Tullius sir! The headsman is waiting!" He called from above the gate into a small village
"What?!" Cried Mzar. He turned around in a panic. "I can't be executed! Are you fucking insane? I've done nothing wrong!"
His complaints fell on def ears. The Nord across from him chastised him, "Face your death with some courage, Elf." He spoke the last word with more venom than the other ones.
Misery overtook him. He was to die alone, the last of his species, with valuable knowledge on Elder Scrolls, Likely never to be reunited with any of his family, friends, or the home he loved so much in Nchuand-Zel. It was a sad thought.
The cart rolled to a halt. He had reluctantly accepted his fate, but the thief ahead of him in the line babbled incoherently about rebels and some of the Nordic divines.
His rambles were cut short when he sprinted from the line. A well placed arrow through the back of his neck stopped his run.
As the names were called forth, he noted the names of his companions. The Nord who he headbutted was named Ralof, the gagged man was Ulfric, Jarl of Windhelm. The man who had run was Lokir.
As he was called forward, the name caller of the list called him forth. He looked confused. "What is your name, Altmer?" he asked.
"Mzar, and I don't associate with High Elves." he replied.
"What should we do captain?" The man asked to the woman next to him. "The block" was the reply she gave.
"We'll make sure your remains are returned to Summerset Isle" the name reader said to him.
"No." He replied "If I am to be executed, I would respectfully request that my remains be returned to a Dwemer stronghold."
"Very well. Easier than shipping half way around the continent." The man offered. He was ushered forward in the line. Where a man in gilded, golden armour was speaking to the gagged man, Ulfric.
Embossed over the man's sternum on his breastplate was the same seal that had been branded above his heart. He pondered what it was, waiting for his inevitable execution. He noticed his back wasn't hurting anymore. He pondered why.
A/N: Okay, so that's it for today. I'm going to update daily, I think. At least for the first few months. I'll probably end up slowing down after a while. I hoped you liked that little hint at the end towards the regeneration factor in Skyrim. Next chapter will also have some Jytte POV. But for now I'm going to leave you with this. Rate/Review please! Hope you enjoyed!