Chapter 1: The Executioner

She had been waiting there for two days: sleeping on that ragged excuse for a bedroll, wearing sack-cloth clothes and having to eat foul foods, all tinged with a disgusting green colour. If anyone saw her, they would think that this 17-year-old Nord, judging from her petite, almost Bosmer-like build and innocent face; was – at the very least – uncomfortable, with her present predicament. But, in reality, it was hardly even a minor inconvenience; possibly even a luxury, given what she had been through in the past.

The rusted cell door screamed as it scraped across the dirty stone ground and a Skingrad guard, fully clad in the trademark red and gray armour, stepped inside.
"Get up," He said gruffly. The girl rose from her casual, cross-legged position in the center of the cell and the guard moved towards her, "Your hands," he demanded and she complied, raising her hands so that he could bind them tightly with a small length of rope. When her hands were bound, the guard pushed her out of the door and marched her, at the point of a sword, across a corridor covered with a brown filth that was far too foul-smelling to have been mud.
He shoved the girl aside, still keeping her at swords-length and pushed opened a heavy steel door at the end of the corridor with a grunt of effort. He hadn't managed to open it all the way but the gap was wide enough for the girl to get through. He beckoned her to go through and she obeyed, walking out into the sunlight. Two more guards were at the exit and they took over, drawing their swords and marching her down a stone pathway.

Five minutes later, they had reached their destination - the centre of the large town, to be executed in public. A small block of wood, permanently blood-stained by the countless beheadings, was sat in the middle and a group of three rope-bound people - an old lady, an Argonian child and the Nord girl - were standing with five guards and the executioner himself watching them. A few years ago a crowd would have gathered to watch the 'criminals' execution, either because they regarded it to be entertainment or they were relatives. But now no one cared. Executions were so routine that folk would find it odd if there was a day when no-one was beheaded at the chopping block. So now there was only the nine of them.

"Serena Raciel of Skyrim." The guard in the centre called out. The petite blonde girl took a step forward. The old lady behind her bent slightly forward and whispered into her ear.

"Do not worry child," She said to the Nord, "Face this injustice with dignity and the divines will bless your death." The girl did not acknowledge that she had heard her but walked with her head held high towards the guard who had called her name. He glanced at Serena and tilted his head slightly to the right, motioning towards the executioner with his jagged axe and equally dreadful blood-stained block. She made her way, neither hastily nor hesitantly, towards the block and kneeled down. She didn't place her head on the block, not wanting to touch the foul-smelling blood, but instead hovered her head slightly above. The executioner did not complain, he could still do his job even if the girl was in an awkward position.

"Everyone will die one day," Serena finally called out a reply to the old lady. The executioner raised his axe. The vicious blade shimmered in the sunlight. His pitiful grey-coloured eyes could be seen through his black mask. This was not the first child he had beheaded nor, he believed, would it be the last - but he didn't find any joy in doing so. After a split second of hesitation, he bought the axe down swiftly. The blade hit the block. And her head was not there. Serena had rolled out of the way of the axe, and before the executioner could recover, she delivered a powerful, two-footed kick to his groin, using the ground for support. He fell to the ground, a yell of pain escaping from his lips. "But today is not my day." she said as she cut her binds on the protruding blade. She tugged at the handle of the axe that had buried deep in the wooden block and with a small grunt she pulled the weapon free, just in time to intercept one of the guards arrows with the edge of the blade. She quickly assessed her situation. Five guards, two of them were archers, one of whom had just shot his arrow and the other nocking one on his bow. The other three guards had drew their swords and were cautiously advancing. The executioner was temporarily incapacitated. And she had a weapon that was only designed for beheading, not for combat. That was more than enough.

She intercepted another arrow with the blade of the axe, and before the archer could recover, she threw the weapon. The blade cut through the air, piercing the guard's helmet and burying itself into his skull. The ferocity of the throw had sent him flying backwards and his body hit the other archer, giving Serena enough time to attack another target without any interfering arrow. She ran towards the closest guard and, as she had expected, he took a few steps back, startled by her reckless move. She leaped into the air and leaned backwards, her body flew towards the guard horizontally, she grabbed his sword-arm between her two legs and, still in the air, twisted her entire body behind him. The momentum of the entire motion, combined with the Serena's full body weight, was far too much for a single limb to handle. His arm not only snapped with a sickly crunch but the muscles ripped apart and a violent spurt of blood, along with the agonizing pain, left him unconscious immediately. And now she had his silver longsword. The rest was easy.

The other two guards, infuriated by what had happened to their comrade, quickly advanced towards Serena. The first drew his sword but that was as far as he got. She lunged her sword towards his hand and knocked the blade away with the tiniest of twists. Noticing that the second guard had also drew his weapon - a huge steel warhammer - and was already swinging it towards her; Serena kicked away the disarmed guard and deftly side-stepped his attack, following up with her own: she stabbed her sword into a chink in the guards armour, driving the blade through his abdomen and pulling it straight out in one swift motion. He fell to the ground and a pool of blood seeped out of his clothes. He would no longer be a problem. But the archer whom she had dazed was back on his feet and had an arrow nocked in his bow. He let it fly and she just managed to duck out of it's way. But just as it had passed over her head she tapped it gently on the shaft, a movement so fast and insignificant that the archer did not notice. Nor did the disarmed guard who had just bent down to retrieve his sword from the ground. The touch had slightly deviated the arrows path and sent it in the guard's direction. Thunk! He would no longer be a problem either.

And so it came down to the last adversary. The fear in the archer's eyes was obvious. He nocked yet another arrow and shot it at Serena. She instinctively dodged out of the way but there was no need to. A silver object had shot through the air and intercepted the arrow whilst still in the air. The bowman stared at his arrow as it hit the ground along with the object. And then, with even more shock, he realised what it was. Another arrow. Some one had shot another arrow that had intercepted his own. But when the archer looked in the direction where the arrow had come from, there was no one there. A sharp, one-second long whistle pierced the air and was followed by an equally sharp scraping sound. Suddenly a pain erupted in his chest and his knees felt weak. He looked down at his chest and noticed a triangular, blood-stained piece of silver jutting out from his cuirass. The tip of an arrow. Another whistle and scrape and another triangle jutted out from his armour, slightly above the last one. The archer collapsed. The last problem had been dealt with. The only one left alive was the executioner. And possibly the first guard Serena attacked. But neither posed a threat any longer.

Standing behind the recently deceased archer was a wide, muscled figure clad in black armour. The material was lighter than silk and looked like a cross between leather and rubber but, of course, it was far stronger than either. His hood was magically enchanted to constantly cover his eyes and nose in a shadow that defied light. And the silver bow that he had clutched in his hand and quiver of arrows both had a reddish-pink glow to it, more enchantments. Serena stared at the man for a short while before speaking.

"What took you so long?"