Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I claim no ownership of the Elder Scrolls, its story or its characters; only my OCs. Thanks, Bethesda. =)

Hopefully I don't lose too many of you once we meet our "Dovahkyn". Explanation in commentary after the story, if you're still around.

Chapter 2: Drawing First Blood

Green eyes tracked the butterfly's path as it danced through the western forest of Hjaalmarch. Such beautiful prey. The owner of the eyes hunkered low, out of sight in the tall grass. Slow, smooth. Coiled. The dirty fingers of one small hand inched forward to wrap around the rough bark of one root. A single blue mountain flower slid to the ground from the lip of a sack as it was abandoned and forgotten at the base of the tree.

The butterfly began to flit towards its hunter, whose lips curled into a vicious grin as she congratulated herself. Losing her companion had been a smart choice. Trying to hunt butterflies with Zash around was like trying to sneak up on someone while banging pots together. Of course, he had yelled a bit as he blundered through the bushes—Get back here, Lysara, or I'm going to break both your legs!—but had soon fallen silent. He was lost. She was gone.

Her euphoria faded, replaced by prickings of guilt. She'd make it up to him later.

Maybe.

The butterfly weaved back and forth in front of her, its brilliant blue wings tantalizing, but out of reach. Lysara drew one silent breath and held it, careful not to alert her prey. Her hand uncurled from the tree root and she began to rise. A warm gust of wind picked up, rustling the grass and flinging the butterfly into frenzied movement along with it.

Lysara lunged, but too late. Her palms slammed against the tree's trunk, empty. She whirled away from the tree and glared at the blue speck as it fluttered high above the next hill. Another warm breeze ruffled her short hair. The butterfly fanned its wings twice in mocking farewell as it disappeared over the other side, forever.

Fingernails bit into the palms of the Breton's hands. She seized a handful of the grass she had been hiding behind and ripped it from the ground. "Oblivion take you!" she screamed.

A large shadow rushed overhead. Lysara flung herself into a sideways roll. As she scrambled to her feet, a thunderous roar forced her to abandon the dark magicka swamping her fists so she could block her ears instead. Her eyes screwed shut against the pain. Just... stop! The earth trembled under her feet as something crashed down amongst the trees some distance away. She opened her eyes, to find... nothing.

Lysara found her mouth was very dry.

What was that? she wondered. Her wide eyes scanned the area, but found no trace of the creature. Flickers of darkness gathered between her fingers. She would not cast, not yet. The creature had been alerted by her shouting; it might be sensitive to magicka as well. Another roar sent goosebumps shivering up the Breton's arms. Whatever it was, it was huge.

She missed Zash.

Almost as if he had heard her unspoken wish, a familiar deep voice bellowed from the crash site.

"You dare challenge me?! Prepare for your death!"

Lysara released a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and raised herself from her crouch. She was safe.

I shouldn't have made so much noise over a silly butterfly.

Snapping branches and the crunching of underbrush met her ears. It must be as big as a mammoth. A mammoth that flies. Whatever the creature was, they would probably end up eating it tonight. An awful thought struck Lysara like an unexpected torchbug to the face. It better not be a flying, disgusting mammoth...

Zash's voice rang out again, startling the Breton from her musings. "You cannot escape me!"

A pang of alarm shot through Lysara. Would the creature turn back in her direction? Wisps of smoke rose from the trembling treetops. She frowned. A fire mammoth? The trembling of the treetops stilled. It seemed the creature was still fixated on Zash.

Good.

But what if it was one of those creatures whose corpses destroyed themselves? She would never know what it had been. The sack forgotten, Lysara took a few tentative steps forward. At the creature's next roar, her stride quickened. A few more paces and she was sprinting down the side of the hill, hands smothered in darkness as she cast again and again. Daedric greaves encased her legs and feet as she hurdled a fallen log; a weightless helm formed around her head.

Faster!

Scents of smoke filled Lysara's nostrils as she stormed up the next rise. Taloned gauntlets shimmered into existence, obscuring her clenched fists as she crashed between two smouldering bushes. Several trees were still aflame, surrounded by blackened ground. Lysara skidded to a halt.

"Akatosh," she breathed.

It was a dragon, she knew. She recognized its rearing form from the shrine. She also recognized the Dremora clinging to the back of the dragon's arching neck in a vain attempt to choke it.

Zash. Lysara swallowed the lump in her throat. What chance did they stand against a god? Her hands began to tremble, threatening to unravel all of her summoning. Well, it was her fault Akatosh found them. Lysara gripped her summoned weapons tighter, braced herself and charged toward the battle. "F-For the glory of Lord Dagon!"

The dragon lowered its head towards the Breton and opened its jaws wide. Before it could lunge for the fatal bite, a daedric longsword burst through the roof of its mouth like a large and bloody extra tooth. Lysara stumbled backward as the beast began to thrash its death throes. Zash hung on like a burr, his armoured legs wrapped around one of the dragon's horns to prevent him from being flung from his perch. As Lysara watched, he began to lean heavily to the side, dragging at the longsword with his weight. The dragon's neck strained against the pressure as it gasped for breath. Exhausted, it submitted to the weight. Zash released his grip around the dragon's horn and his longsword and rolled clear as the dragon crashed onto its side.

Lysara couldn't help staring as the Dremora lunged to his feet, dusting ash and dirt from his indigo hair. Zash killed Akatosh!

He turned to face her and scowled. "And what did you propose to do with those?" he snarled, before stepping to retrieve his longsword.

All elation faded as Lysara lifted the two bows she had summoned. She released the magicka and hung her head as blood rushed to her face. Lord Dagon, Prince of Destruction... please open a canyon under me.

Zash sheathed his longsword as he rejoined Lysara. He pointed to the forest behind her. "Get your things. This hunting trip is over."

Despite herself, Lysara pouted. The danger was over now, what good would—?

The dragon's corpse began to crackle and jerk.

"Behind you!" she shrieked.

Zash whirled, daedric longsword drawn in a second, as the jerking corpse burst into flame. Wisps of white light streamed from the now-glowing skeleton, whipping towards them with the howl of the strongest of winter gales. Lysara watched, wide-eyed, as the Dremora charged into the wisps, longsword a blur of motion as he fought to bring down as many as he could.

They can't be cut, she realized in horror, as the sword passed through the lights without altering their course. They continued to swarm around the panicked Dremora, slipping past or through his every defense. Darkness swamped Lysara's hands, but too late. The light streams were already fading. She let the magicka fade and rushed to the Dremora's side.

"Zash!" She peered up at his face. His fiery orange eyes seemed unfocused; the slitted pupils were unusually wide. "Are you alright?"

A snarl curled the Dremora's dark lips. "We are leaving." He glared up at the sky and broken branches. "There may be more of His spawn."

That wasn't Akatosh? Lysara felt a queasy stirring in her belly. There's another dragon?

A red fox darted around a smouldering bush and rushed through the clearing without so much as a glance at the occupants. A brown rabbit followed the fox.

Lysara paused. Something's coming.

Treetops shook; the ground trembled beneath their feet. Lysara tripped and fell, as Zash dropped to one knee.

DOVAHKIIN!

Then all was still.

Lysara wiped ash and dirt from her hands onto her skirt as she rose. "Another one?"

"No."

She turned to look as Zash strode to her side, his expression puzzled. Well, what was it? she wanted to ask. Instead, she bit her lip. Better not interrupt.

"Lord Dagon?"

Lysara's brow furrowed. "What?"

The confusion on Zash's face vanished. "Mehrunes Dagon calls, Mortal." A grin broke through his usual stormy countenance.

Lysara blinked, stunned. Zash is actually happy about something. A second thought followed: This can't be good.

Commentary:

Apologies for the wait. This chapter was a mongrel to write and fought every word of the way.

Yes, we have a Dremora dragonborn. After reading up on a lot of lore, I didn't find anything that ruled out this intriguing possibility. I decided to run with it. There are many people out there who know a lot more about lore than I do. There may be lore out there that does rule this out; I just couldn't find it. I hope you can enjoy this story, regardless. Some of you may also have religious or personal objections to this. That's cool.

"Devotees of Dibella" are also likely to be disappointed.