A figure of pure darkness struggled to its feet, swaying from the weight of the massive sword loosely held in its grip. The inky blackness of this figure contrasted with its surroundings. Cyclopean columns of pure white marble stretched from the crystalline floor to the ceiling far above. A bloody carpet that had once been white before this conflict stretched all the way from a broken down set of intricately carved doors to a toppled white throne.
The throne and battered gates bore similar imagery, with the gate bearing images of white hawks in flight. The throne itself bore two large white wings on either side of it, with the head of a hawk presiding over the seat. One wing had been sheared clean off by the massive blade held in the grasp of the Wolf Knight.
With jagged wolf-like teeth and eyes that glowed a fierce shade of crimson, this thing invoked fear in those that looked upon it. Several humans stared in horror at the dark figure, the few apostles in the crowd dumbstruck with what had just transpired. All did not; could not believe that the hawk of light had been struck down.
The Wolf-Knight lifted the head of the fallen god in his free hand, the white hair matted with blood and the once angelic face of the king of Falconia locked in a pained grimace. The Wolf-Knight looked down at the head, its broken and mangled body only held together by the armor encasing it.
The Wolf-Knight thought of only one thing after completing its eternity-long goal…
It wasn't worth it…
The Wolf-Knight fell to his knees, discarding the Dragonslayer to clutch the decapitated head of Griffith tightly.
"You… were my…" The Wolf-Knight began.
Whatever he might have said went unheard by the onlookers, who only saw the Wolf-Knight clutch the white head close to its black breastplate before slumping over. Dead at last. They both were.
All became blackness.
This blackness continued on for millennia… until he heard a voice call out to him. One he did not recognize, one he could not understand. Yet somehow, he knew that the voice needed his help. He reached out for it, somehow; and felt himself being pulled towards… warmth. He and the voice discussed, yet he did not understand their words or what it was they were agreeing too.
After they finally reached the unknown accord, the voice vanished.
The image of a black dragon then entered his vision, a great and terrible beast with red eyes and a hunger to swallow the world. Its massive hind legs ended in huge razor sharp black claws, two massive wings of darkness unfurling to reveal their massive span. Jagged plates of pitch black scaly hide jutted forth from its body, matching the menacing horns on its huge head. It stared at him with hatred, opening its maw to reveal a set of sharp obsidian teeth, an oily tongue retracting back into its mouth. The dragon looked as if it were about to speak... Then suddenly, the image vanished, and in its place was left a cold sensation.
Guts blinked.
He blinked! As his eyes adjusted to the light around him. As his blurry vision focused, he realized that he once again had a body. He looked down at himself, seeing familiar old scars from when he had still possessed a body. He was shocked to see that his arm had regrown, and more shocked to see out of his missing eye. His hands were bound with leather cuffs… What the hell? He looked up again as he noticed the creak of wagon wheels and the whinnying of horses.
He was in an open-roofed wagon with three other men similarly bound as himself. The air was cold and nipped at his bare flesh. Indeed he was no longer encased in his cursed armor, but now he wore little more than dirty brown rags. The morning daylight almost overwhelmed his senses after an eternity spent in darkness, but he continued to observe his surroundings.
Several snow capped pine trees passed his vision, jutting up from the earth between massive hunks of rock. A man drove the wagon, a single horse pulling them along a cobbled road. He wore what appeared to be a military uniform, though from what land he had no idea. He was clad in a leather open-faced helm, his uniform also made of a firm leather with a section of chain covering his upper back. He wore an undershirt the color of crimson, and Guts looked the opposite direction to see a man similarly dressed riding a horse just behind his wagon.
Was that a skirt? Guts blinked again, and looked back to the carriage driver. He was about to speak when he was interrupted by the blonde man sitting directly across from him.
"Hey you, finally awake." He said in an accent that Guts could not place "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."
"Damn you Stormcloaks." The dark-haired man next to the blonde fellow snapped "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy… if they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." The dirty man then looked to Guts "You there, you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."
There was a brief pause between the two men until the blonde said "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."
"Shut up back there!" The carriage driver snapped.
Stormcloaks… was that another military faction? The blonde man seemed to be wearing a uniform. A suit of chain lay under a cloth jerkin, a blue cloak wrapped around his shoulders and a lining of fur likely to protect from this frigid cold. A single long braid of his long hair framed his rough face and bold nose. Definitely a warrior this one. So, he was a Stormcloak?
The thief then looked to the third man, a fellow with long dark blonde hair and similar features to the Stormcloak sitting across from Guts. Not related, but certainly the same race perhaps, with similar rough features and bold nose. He wore a coat of dark fur around his shoulders, with a fine set of ringmail beneath it. For some reason, he wore a cloth gag in his mouth… perhaps the imperials thought he was annoying?
"What's wrong with him huh?" The thief asked the gagged man.
"Watch your tongue!" The Stormcloak snapped "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"
The thief's eyes widened at the name "Ulfric…? The jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion… but if they captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us!?" He finished, a note of panic in his voice.
"I don't know where we're going… but Sovngarde awaits." The Stormcloak said, his tone knowing yet somber as he looked ahead at the rest of the wagon train.
The thief shook his head "This can't be happening, this isn't happening!"
"Hey, what village are you from horse-thief?" The stormcloak asked, turning his head to look the thief in the eyes.
"Why do you care…?" He responded.
"A nord's last thoughts… should be of home."
"Rorikstead, I'm… I'm from Rorikstead."
"General Tullius sir, the headsman is waiting!" An imperial shouted from up ahead.
"Good, let's get this over with!" A gruff, older man shouted.
That must have been this general Tullius, but Guts could not see him from here. Was he going to be executed with these people? He would have to make a break for it when he could. Maybe he could take Tullius captive? If he could get his bindings around his neck, he'd be able to snap it like a twig. He could use that threat to give himself a good head start. He'd have to get close though.
Perhaps he wouldn't be executed, he wasn't with the Stormcloaks after all…
"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh! Divines, please help me!" The thief pleaded.
One of those names sounded… familiar somehow. Guts could not understand why. Were these Divines gods of some kind? He would think about that later. The wagon then passed beneath wooden battlements supported by a stone wall. Guts could hear the thud of footsteps on the boards above as they passed beneath them.
"Look at him, General Tullius the military governor," The stormcloak spat as he delivered the words with venom "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him, damn elves… I bet they had something to do with this."
Guts looked to see a man with short, graying hair atop a sturdy brown horse, a cloak of red draped around his shoulders. In front of him was a strange creature atop its own horse, with pointed ears and yellow flesh, as if it were sickly. It's inhuman features were alien and strange as the black gold-trimmed garb it wore. Was that supposed to be an elf in this world?
Guts blinked again. This world… It wasn't his own, that was right. He made a deal with someone to come here… but what was the deal? He shut his eyes tight as he tried to remember, only to come up with nothing. Giving up on that for now, he observed the surrounding village they had passed into.
A few homes with hay roofs and tall towers of stone surrounded the road they were on, a few townspeople staring at his cart and whispering amongst themselves.
"This is Helgen…" The stormcloak said "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in…" He paused as he observed Helgen "Funny… when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe…"
Guts could hear a tinge of sorrow in the man's voice as he finished speaking.
"Who are they daddy?" He heard a young boy ask his father "Where are they going?"
Guts turned his head to see the boy sitting legs crossed on his porch, staring right at him.
"Time to go inside, little cub." The father replied, moving next to the boy.
"Why? I want to watch the soldiers!" The boy whined looking away from Guts and to his father.
"Inside the house. Now." The father replied sternly.
"Yes papa…"
The wagons then began slowing to a halt as the horses approached a stone wall, the other carts that had been in front of them had been parked already.
"Get the prisoners out of the cart, move it!" A woman shouted.
A woman shouting orders? This certainly wasn't Midland. He looked to the voice, seeing a short woman clad in gleaming steel plate armor, similar in style to the leather jerkins on the other imperials. So a woman commander? That took him back a ways… He shook his head as the cart pulled to a stop.
"Why are we stopping?" The thief asked, his voice almost shaking.
"Why do you think? End of the line." The stormcloak responded before looking at Guts, "Let's go, shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us." He finished, standing from his seat with a smile.
Guts too stood, with the man named Ulfric and the thief just ahead of him. The carriage driver had already left his seat, tying the horses down to a post.
"No wait, we're not rebels!" The thief shouted.
"Face your death with some courage thief." The stormcloak told him.
"You got to tell them, we weren't with you, this is a mistake!"
"Step toward the block when we call your name, one at a time!" The woman officer shouted.
So this was to be an execution? He couldn't see Tullius anywhere nearby… He looked at the woman as he thought about what to do. The general may not be close enough now...But he could certainly improvise with who was currently available. If it came to that.
"Empire loves their damned lists…" The stormcloak said as he climbed down the wagon after Guts.
A dark haired man with a quill and book then said "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."
Ulfric then began walking towards the executioner's block, glaring down the female commander with sheer hate. Guts could see two black flags waving over the block, each depicting the symbol of what appeared to be the motif of a dragon. Was that the symbol for this Empire?
"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric…" The stormcloak said, bowing his head in respect.
"Ralof of Riverwood." The man said, looking up from his book.
The stormcloak: Ralof, then walked forward, maintaining eye contact with the soldier holding the list. Was there some kind of history between those two? The way they glared at one another suggested a previous association.
The soldier gave a small huff, and looked back to Guts and the thief "Lokir of Rorikstead."
"No! I'm not a rebel, you can't do this!" Lokir shouted, breaking for the gates they had arrived from.
"Halt!" The woman shouted after Lokir.
"You're not gonna kill me!" He shouted back.
"Archers!" She shouted.
A few men standing in front of one of the stone towers took aim, firing upon Lokir. The arrows all found their marks, embedding themselves in his back with wet thuds and sending him crashing to the ground with a pained groan. Those shots had all been fatal, Lokir was a goner. The woman then turned to stare Guts in the eye, who maintained a neutral expression.
"Anyone else feel like running?" She asked.
Guts did not reply.
"Wait, you there, step forward." The man with the quill said, sighting Guts at last.
Guts complied, stepping forward so the soldier could get a better look at him. Guts towered a full head and shoulders above the both of them, the woman especially having to crane her head to look at him.
"Who… are you?"
"I'm Guts." He replied simply.
The man then began to re-read his list, repeating the name Guts and frowning when he couldn't find his name.
"Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list." The man said.
Perhaps he wouldn't have to stage an escape after all?
"Forget the list, he goes to the block-"
Guts charged forward, quickly bashing her across the face with his bound fists and knocking her helm clean off her head with the clang of flesh on metal. She twisted with the blow, and that was when he looped his binds around her neck, dragging her back toward the carts as she choked from the force Guts tugged her with. She kicked up a trail of dirt as she struggled and coughed, likely trying to scream out an order. Several blades were drawn and the archers trained their bows on him as he backed up between the horse carriages.
He leaned down to whisper in the captain's ear "Draw your sword and place the blade up toward your throat. Do it now or I'll break your neck." Guts commanded as his back collided with the wall.
She hesitated for a moment before Guts tightened his grip, lifting her slightly off the ground. Her face was beginning to turn purple and her neck was bleeding from the force. She relented, drawing her blade and pointing it upward.
"Release her!" The quill holding soldier commanded.
Guts ignored him as he sliced through his bindings, quickly taking the sword from the woman's grasp and wrapping his free arm around her neck. He pointed the shortsword at the man.
"I'll kill her." Guts said casually. "Cut the other prisoners free and arm them or she's gone."
There was a very good chance that they wouldn't do that, but if they did, Guts could have these Stormcloaks at his back as he escaped. If the imperials wouldn't do it, he would have to figure out something else. He could always just kill every soldier in the fortress, but he might take a couple arrows before he got done. He just got his body back, he'd try and keep it in good shape before giving it new scars.
"I can't do-"
A loud penetrating roar screamed from over the mountain tops then, interrupting their conversation. The imperials that had been gathering behind him all looked to the sky, dumbfounded for a second.
"Kill this man now!" The captain shouted before Guts clamped down harder on her neck.
"Quiet." Guts told her "Hurry up and do what I said or your captain is dead."
Another roar, this one much closer than the last.
"Dragon!" Guts heard.
His mind blanked as he heard the word. That was… that was why he was here…
He looked to the sky then as he heard something soar overhead with a deafening roar.
"Alduin." Guts said, the words bitter on his tongue.
A name that was familiar yet a name he had never spoken… this Alduin had been a part of the deal he had made with the voice. He knew not what the terms were, but Guts knew that killing that dragon was a part of it…
He was going to need a bigger weapon than this.