Silver scales shimmer under the cold sun illuminating Whiterun's plains; the looming threat approaching at such a speed, barely any man or mer could fully comprehend what was approaching until it was upon them. Her strong nordic grip tightened over the bow she pulled from her back, arrow notched and aimed at Skyrim's ultimate hunter. Her skills with the bow were nowhere near the level of her greatsword but she refused to wait around like prey while it burned the landscape and her fellow nords, hitting a few arrows helped her to fuel the battle lust inside her soul.

"Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde!" It roared as it burned one of the guards to a crisp. Putrid smells of burned skin and ash assaulted Gustha's senses, her nose involuntary wrinkling as she trained her warrior's eye on the great sky beast. There was something about the great rumble in his voice that encaptured her; she shook her head, blond locks momentarily covering her vision. She focused again on the beast with only a second to duck behind the tower debris to avoid the incoming inferno spewing from its magnificent maw.

With an earth shaking crash, she found herself staring into a pale dragon-tongue coloured eye as the beast bit down on a second guard, shaking him like a wolf would a rabbit. She refused to be a rabbit, her proud blood would never cower. Rising to her feet and stowing her bow she drew her greatsword; steel glistening under the firelight that surrounded her, and made strong purposeful steps toward her prey.

"Could you call yourselves nords if you ran away from this monster?" The voice of the dunmer housecarls pre-battle words echoed around the corners of Gustha's mind.
"No" she thought "I wouldn't be a nord if I ran now." Those thoughts accompanied her battle cry as she brought her sword down on the mighty beast's wing. With a growl at the interruption to his snack, the silver stalker rotated to face this mortal with what could only be described as a sneer. Blood decorated the powerful snout as she brought her sword across in a strong left swing. With resounding a snarl the dragon lunged which she parried with a slight stagger.

"Ha! I love a challenge!" she called with a smirk as she righted her posture preparing for another attack.

"Krif krin. Pruzah!" the dragon bellowed, she could see a twinkle in its eye as it spoke. Spoke. She was listening to a dragon, and couldn't understand the tongue it spoke. She roared and brought her sword in another slash, cutting under the steel coloured scales. Its own blood joining the blood of its latest meal. Again she brought her sword down with a loud 'thwack' annoyance decorating the small snarls and growls coming from the sky beast. Both opponents recognised the other's strength and the challenge they both presented.

'Swish' another swing. "By Ysmir, you won't leave here alive!" Nord battlecries against dragon grunts, growls and roars. Her limbs were tired, constantly parrying and avoiding the gnashing fangs. The great silver beast was faltering itself, stamina running low, many of the guards whittling it down slowly and this ferocious nord unflinchingly swinging at him. Mirmulnir was overcome with an urge to converse with this resilient foe, afterall, dragon battles were battles of the spoken word, not that these creatures could appreciate the advanced philosophy of the dovah.

"I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!" He almost called in glee as he spread his impressive wings and took off into the crisp air. Soaring around the tower, eyeing down the not nearly as impressive mortals, they were nothing compared to the foe who held her own with the long sharp shaped metal. Gustha flinched again hearing the deep rumbling voice of the silver-scaled lizard, being able to understand the words made the impact feel heavier on her chest. 'Ziigron' a small voice whispered in her head. Shaking her head (in hopes to free it of the small whispering voice) she refocused on the battle and stowed her greatsword.

Another vicious bolt of lightning hit the dov hunter with a precise blow, hitting the sensitive junction between right-wing and body. Gustha once again drew her ancient nord bow, hoping it would carry her old nordic arrows far enough once again. Scorching two more guards left the defending battalion with only a handful brave souls left, the others having departed to Sovngarde.

"You are brave." The dragon announced with conviction "bahlaan hokoron." Swooping and grabbing another guard with his powerful talons and dropping the poor man from a height no mortal could survive. "Your defeat brings me honour."

She couldn't withhold the scoff as she reached for another arrow. Honour, it claims. What does a murderous sky-lizard know of honour? Oh how she wanted to get into a heated debate about it with him, which was beyond strange for the nordic woman. The urge went against her hit now, ask later nordic blood, the urge came from something else deep within her soul that she couldn't put her finger on. She shook her head once more and pulled another arrow from her quiver, locking it in.

. . .

The battle raged on costing the participants much of the daylight, finally with a mighty roar, Gustha caught the dragon in its open maw with her scarlet decorated blade. Finishing with a powerful downward stab through its impressive head. Mirmulnir felt the stir of his soul start to leave his body and it dawned on him in the most dreaded awful recognition.

"Dovahkiin? Nooo!" He roared with his final living breath. Gustha saw the brilliant colours burst forth from the silver scaled dragon and she couldn't help but feel mesmerised by the brilliant hues of orange and blue. It looked like the most beautiful combination of fire and ice. The colours seeped into her very being, she felt a stir in her entire being, power now fueling her and something else, something deeper and more intense.

As she looked down at the lifeless eyes of the powerful beast who sent many of her own kind to Sovngarde; she felt a sense of pride but also sadness. Such a powerful foe brought her and her kin glory, yet it was a shame to see such a beast felled and lifeless. She loosened the binds on her banded iron armour just enough to relax her muscles and couldn't help but sigh in relief. Despite the mutterings of Jarl Balgruff and his "you survived Helgen, so you have more experience than anyone else here" she hadn't fought a dragon before and highly anticipated her own trip to Sovngarde. After sighing she felt an urge to yell at the sky in victory, so she raised her head feeling a power stir in her chest then up her throat she let forth a powerful 'FUS' and couldn't help but stagger a little.

A guard approached her, his mouth open and eyes sparkling in a recognition that alluded her.

"I can't believe it. You are… Dragonborn" he breathed, as if he'd witnessed something rarer and more surprising than a dragon. Dragonborn, she'd heard of that, not that she could remember where but she knew that term and well. He went on to explain and the other guards joined them talking about stories their grandmothers told them when they were only a handful of winters old. Slayer of dragons, a soul like Tiber Septim. Dragon slayer echoed around her mind. Slayer. For some reason, that word didn't feel right.

She caught the end of their conversation as the now annoyed dark-elf claimed to have seen things just as outlandish as a dragon; a dragon that shouldn't exist in this day and age, a beast from the past. Gustha could see from the expressions of her fellow nords that her doubt and annoyance was shared. Irileth did however have a point, this dragon was proof that mortals could kill one, the guards of the hold could take the beasts down. With the conversation over, the guards started making their way back to Whiterun, in need of mead and meat.

Upon reaching the large stone gates of Whiterun the world shook and a powerful call of "DOVAHKIIN" echoed around the stone walls. The call seeped into her bones and Gustha tried her best not to let out a growl of annoyance at what was more than likely going to be the next task given to her. The powerful call came from the mountains to the east of Whiterun. With a defeated sigh, she walked through the heavy gates and parted ways with the guards (minus Irileth) heading toward Dragonsreach.

She approached the throne of the Jarl that called her friend and requested her services more than once, perhaps she was settling into the role of sellsword? A worthy way to make coin she supposed. Balgruuf's face lit up seeing his housecarl walk toward him with Gustha, both covered in blood and ash but very much alive and well. He quizzed Gustha on the events of the tower yet the mention of her being Dragonborn changed the air in Dragonsreach. Suddenly, a heated argument filled the room as the pretentious Preventus argued with the hot-headed Hrongar about the importance of Dragonborn. Gustha had to hold in a groan, she just wanted to rest at the local inn with a mug of mead and a belly full of a hot meal. Her helmet tucked into her side as her blond hair freed itself from the confines, being able to flow down her shoulders, more than the few front strands being able to feel the air of Skyrim.

. . .

Stumbling into The Bannered Mare she was ready to collapse on a bed. Despite now being Thane of Whiterun and able to purchase property, she didn't have enough gold right now. Plus she just found out she had to head to Ivarstead come dawn so settling down was nothing more than a fever dream right now. Hulda flashed her a warm smile, being familiar with the ash covered nord from her previous stays. She placed a coin purse on the bar and Hulda showed her to her usual room, warm food and a mug of mead in hand. Hulda walked over to the balcony and placed the meal on the small table and reminded her where she was should Gustha need anything else.

After Hulda left, Gustha plopped her helmet down on one of the bed tables and started unfastening the buckles on her armour, stripping down to her smalls. She pulled her clothes out of her pack and some charred skeever hide from her food pouch. She found her cleaning cloth and some soap that she'd picked up from Gerdur back in Riverwood, dipping the cloth into the water basin next to her bed she started rubbing the damp rag with the soap block. Now with the soapy wet rag, she began massaging her muscles and cleaning her skin of the remnants of battle.

Wiped down and munching on the charred meat she stumbled around pulling the basic tan miners style shirt over her muscular shoulders, then hopping around while she slipped into her moss green leggings adding simple clothed boots to the outfit. Sure, there were many dresses available but she wasn't a fair milk-drinking maiden embellishing an amulet of Mara performing delicate duties around the hold. No. Clothes would suit her better and provided her with modesty and practicality should she need to reach for her sword and start swinging.

Finishing the bitter burnt hide she felt her stamina and health return to healthier levels. She let the leather tie out of her hair, shaking loose the strands and braids from her half pinned back style. Her ice-wraith eyes tired but illuminating in the candle-light, pale skin now clean of the marks of battle. Ash and blood only slightly stain her until she can bathe tomorrow, maybe in a nice lake on her way to Ivarstead.

She sat at the table and devoured the stew, downing the mead that accompanied it. The meal warmed her slightly aching bones as she listened to the distasteful bard singing Ragnar The Red to a collection of revellers. Some of the guards from the earlier battle could be seen around the fire boasting about their victory.
"Honestly? Boast away" she couldn't help but think. It's not every day you take down a dragon and live to tell the tale, much less come out with minor wounds enabling you to drink that same eve. Some of their comments floated up to her balcony, their burly voices carrying the comments further than likely intended - mead lowering their inhibitions.

"You should've seen the Dragonborn! That's right… Dragonborn!" Guard one bellowed.

"She's a mighty fine nord that one! She'd make for an impressive bedfellow!" The second laughed. She couldn't help but scoff, if anything she'd make a fine wife certainly not lesser enough to merely be an out-of-marriage lay. It wasn't a surprise the proud nords wouldn't want her for a wife, they'd feel inferior to her and her new-found strength. She found the conversation uninteresting and promptly focused on the music more than the revelry, the bard having swapped to a drum instrumental.

Finishing her mead, she let out a low yawn and stretched, clicking her joints. Manoeuvring sluggishly over to the bed she flopped down onto it, half-hanging off the bed and grabbing her greatsword from where it was propped against the wall, she hoisted it up and slid it next to her on the bed. Eyeing the closed door for any signs of disturbance she let out a satisfied grunt and closed her eyes, embracing the darkness.

. . . Gustha's POV . . .

"W-what?" I found myself rasping out as bright gold invaded my vision, causing me to squint my eyes protectively from this new glare. I was still in bed, but this bed felt different, comfier, richer, much like I'd imagine the emperor's bed to feel. Adjusting to the new light I slowly reopened my eyes, blinking rapidly in hopes it'd help the adjustment go faster. I slowly rose to a sitting position, head resting against the expensive wooden headboard, I looked to my side and noticed my sword was missing which set my nerves on edge and my body on alert.

Peeling the royal red sheets from my body I tiptoed out of the bed like an elk approaching the lake, cautious and alert. I could still feel my newfound power weighing on my chest and I was confident I had the fists and strength to combine with it should I get into trouble. I studied the room briefly, it was rather large, expensive much like the bed. Golds, reds and blues decorated it extravagantly, the place screamed wealth yet the style was nordic. The ceiling however, was something I'd never seen before in a nord home. Instead of the sturdy wooden beams I've grown so familiar with, the ceiling glistened like gems in a rock, how strange.

My eyes fell down onto the heavy wooden door, hopefully I could find answers about this location before whoever kidnapped me returned.

"It had to have been a kidnapping" I muttered to myself, quietly moving across the room to the door and continuing the personal conversation in my mind 'nothing else would make sense…' 'Right?' Questioning how I was even here but keeping an eye out for danger, the only ones with the skills to get past the heavily guarded Whiterun would be the Brotherhood surly? Gasping, it clicked.

"The Dark Brotherhood!" My hand paused on the door, palm flat against the cool wood. My alertness and defensive demeanour dropped slightly at the next sentence "surely this is Sovngarde?" It would make sense, assassinated in my sleep and now I'm in Sovngarde. A shame my life was cut so short but what an honour to have made it to the great hall of all places!

Pushing the door open with newfound vigour, I stepped into a large hallway, doors everywhere. "They must be the rooms of the other warriors…" probing that question further, I walked up to the door opposite mine, it was the only door who's sconce was lit. The door was very similar to the wooden doors of Nirn but it had an intricate scene displayed in metal decoration. 'It looks like the scenes in Bleak Falls Burrow, before the dragon-claw door.'

My fingers traced over the first scene, it appeared to be two dragons. The first, raised high in the sky; wings spread, the second was on the floor with its neck craned. Reminding me of a wolf showing submission, like an animalistic bow.

I moved my finger over to the second scene, it looked like the dragon who was originally bowing in the first scene, but this time he was in the sky, wings spread, above what looked to be piles of corpses, corpses of dragonkind and man alike. An involuntary shiver crept down my spine, the scene was disturbingly threatening.

Finally, I traced the third scene, it looked like the same dragon was flying above a herd of what seemed to be elk. From its open maw, 'I can only assume it's supposed to represent it spewing fire onto the herd.' Below each scene was a different word in what she assumed was dragon-tongue; it matched the style of the words on the wall in Bleak Falls Barrow, "I wish I could read it…"

After studying the door a little longer, she turned her attention back to the hallway, only the right side seemed illuminated and the end of the hallway appeared to reach a balcony similar to the one in Dragonsreach, 'perhaps this also overlooks the feasting hall?' Still feeling cautious but significantly less than before, 'I suppose the comfort of Sovngarde must be soothing my soul.' As I wandered down the corridor I felt a tug stirring in my soul, like an internal compass guiding me to my destination.

I reached the end, and it did indeed come out to a balcony overlooking the feasting hall, but the hall was eerily empty except for one person who sat head directed toward the table contents, elbows resting on the table, face in his hands and eyes closed. He appears to be in really deep thought. A rather tall yet slimmer built nord by the looks of it but with some unique features, his hair is a blue-steel and it's pulled back into a ponytail by a leather tie. His light grey armour is leather but sleeveless, showing off a thin skin-tight cloth undershirt, he looks to have no weapons on him - 'a hunter perhaps?' Yet one without a bow.

Looking around and noticing some stairs connecting the balcony to the floor of the feasting hall, I decided an introduction was likely the right course of action. Descending them with the purpose to make myself acquainted with the only other resident present, thankfully I was still wearing the clothes I went to bed in so I was able to move swiftly and silently, unwilling to disturb the man's deep thoughts and perhaps listening to my survival instincts.

I approached the table with a small level of caution and coughed to announce my arrival. The strange man jumped and his eyes fell onto mine - a pale dragon-tongue yellow, 'how unusual…' He studied me for a moment, eyes assessing my body but not in the way of a starved man, it was in the way of a hunter, mapping out and taking note of every detail. Regardless, it made me feel open and vulnerable.

"Greetings" I introduced myself, putting my fist to my chest, straightening my spine. Hopefully showing to form an ally with the only other I've seen in the building.

"Dovahkiin" he breathed in almost disbelief, his voice deep and seemingly had a small powerful rumble to it. Containing what felt like an unspoken threat, like a beast, 'could he be a werewolf?'

He stood abruptly and launched over the table toward me; he was almost on top of me. It happened so fast I could barely do more than listen to my instincts as I used my newfound power. Yelling 'FUS' at him as he hurtled back into the table, he made an attempt to right himself but it appeared as though his legs were jelly. His unique eyes narrowed at me as he remained sat on the floor, head resting against the table-side.
"Using a stolen power, gahrot suleyk, is considered rather rude, Dovahkiin" he huffed in annoyance.

"Stolen power?" I questioned him, remaining in battle position, he'd come too close for comfort the first time. I raised my fists showing him I could do more than knock him on his ass. He huffed again in response then attempted to stand but swiftly fell back down as his legs gave out again, 'it almost reminds me of a newborn foal learning to walk.'

"Geh" he grumbled,

"Your thu'um is not your own, it was stolen, gahrot. A prize almost, as a result of your recent battle, your recent, krif." He glared at me unflinching, despite not being able to stand, or so it seemed.

This conversation was going nowhere, and it seemed no-one else was joining us, or else they'd have come hearing my yell. Relaxing slightly, I studied the eyes of the now very annoyed nord - they looked at me with disdain, recognition. There was something familiar and menacing about those eyes, but I'd have remembered if I'd met such a unique looking nord.

"Who are you?" I questioned him, maybe his name would bring me recognition. He sneered at me then with a newfound arrogance.

"I believe in your tongue, I am called 'Allegiance-Strong-Hunt" he attempted to stand once more, this time successful yet still shaky, his hands on the table behind him for grip while his legs got used to the seemingly uncommon feeling. 'Just how long was this nord sitting at the table?'

"And in your tongue?" I pushed, we're both nords, we should share the common tongue. Perhaps his appearance was deceptive, an imperial with mer descent maybe? He grinned at me this time, showing two fanged teeth in place of two of his normal teeth. Vampire?! My body shuddered involuntarily - a night hunter would not be good to face right now.

"Mirmulnir" he answered before continuing

"It's strange you choose this moment for tinvaak instead of swinging your sword about and yelling" he sneered with what could only be described as a shit eating grin.

Suddenly a flash of my earlier battle flashed through my mind, fire, burning corpses, magnificent silver scales and those same dragon-tongue eyes. I couldn't withhold the gasp that left my mouth as the man watched me piece things together with amusement and glee.

"So it's true then? Vahzah? You nords think with your fists and are incapable of using the space between your ears?" My blood couldn't help but boil in response.

"Us nords are mightier than you'll ever know, beast!" I bellowed in response. He pushed off the table slightly now able to stand on his own.

"Kah. Your pride, it will be the death of you, little mortal" scoffing to accompany his point.

"And I was the death of you!" I couldn't help but growl out. Growl? The startled expression was something we both shared when the growl left my lips.

"It seems you're more in touch with your dovah side than you had me believe, Dovahkiin" he hummed thinking,

"Come, you can growl at me more over food, geh?" My face obviously spoke where my tongue wouldn't when he sighed and continued.

"We're both trapped somewhere alone, both unsure what's going on, we can tinvaak over a feast. I for one, am hungry, your mortal friends could only fill so much" he sneered again.

I walked around the table and took his original seat as he lowered himself onto the bench he was previously sprawled next to. We both studied each other for a couple minutes until he huffed and started piling food onto his plate. There were no eating utensils in sight, we were likely supposed to rely on our hands and teeth to take our fill.

"What is this place?" I asked the nord, I mean dragon? Dragon-nord? He swallowed thinking for a minute before taking a drink from his goblet. I didn't have the patience to wait and let him toy with me, so I tried a different question.

"How are you appearing as a man instead of a beast?" This obviously had some strong magic surrounding it, perhaps a dark ritual?

"Zu'u lost nid mindok" he bit his teeth in response, seemingly bothered. I took the fact he was bothered as a small victory.

"In my tongue, Hunt" I bit back. He gave off what appeared to be an eye-roll… 'Dick.'

"I have no knowledge of what's going on. It appears we are both as clueless as the other, but only in this matter." Before I could respond, he continued

"and if I must speak the common tongue, you must call me by my name - Mirmulnir." He snapped, returning to his meal. I sighed heavily and watched him with curious eyes.

Some restful sleep this was.

A dead dragon turned nord. A royal mead-hall with no other inhabitants. 'Could this be a dream?' Perhaps the hide I consumed had come from an ill skeever, this could be a fever dream stemming from ataxia. It seems like the most plausible reason for everything, either that or the excess stress was triggering some strange dreams.

"A dream would explain a lot" I mumbled to myself, biting my lip in thought. As I mused the two options over in my mind I was brought back to reality by a throaty chuckle. Focusing my eyes, I met the highly amused facial expression of the silver-haired menace.

"Watching a nord attempt to use their brain might just become my new favourite pastime," he grinned, then the grin morphed into something predatory and almost evil.

"Alduin will consume your soul, little mortal. Dovahkiin or not, he will win." Mirmulnir said it with such conviction I couldn't help the involuntary shiver that played my spine like the strings of a bard's lute. He seemed pleased that his warning triggered a fear reaction from me, something I couldn't let him get away with.

"I will mount The Word Eater's head on my wall" I spoke with certainty and sureness, glaring into those evil yellow eyes. Facial expression falling, he responded only with an annoyed hiss, tongue darting out similarly to a snake but with the very human action of licking his lips in irritation.

Suddenly he only grinned wider than before, then using his sharp claw he picked some meat from a gap next to his predator pointed teeth. Studying his claws, he finally responded, eyes challenging.

"Your words and face say this, but the scent you're letting off is one of uncertainty and fear." The flinch came involuntarily as he smirked at me, daring me to call him a liar.

I huffed and left the table, perhaps one of these doors could lead me out of here. Before I could take so much as a step, an outwardly chime echoed around the hall. Even the dragon seemed confused and on-edge, sharing a glance he also rose to his feet, still shaky but nowhere near as bad as before. I was about to continue my door-pursuit when I felt a tug on my consciousness, darkness overtook my vision again.

. . .

Gustha awoke to the sound of a door slamming shut. she startled, reaching for her sword and finding it where it was left the night prior. 'Back in The Bannered Mare?' she questioned, blinking the heavy sleep from her eyes. She was indeed back at the inn, in the bed she remembered falling asleep in. She had no symptoms of ataxia, so perhaps it really was nothing more than a dream? A strange dream nonetheless. Judging by the natural light filtering through the gaps in the wood, it was time for her to get dressed and leave for Ivarstead.

. . .

She walked past one of the many farms decorating Whiterun hold, coming to a bridge just past the Honningbrew Meadery. Making sure her armour was fastened, sword was strapped and pack was set, she made a step to cross the bridge, stilling when she heard a familiar grumbling voice behind her.

"Embarking on an adventure, little mortal?" 'Oh you've got to be kidding me!' She couldn't help but cry out in her head, sharply turning to face the dragon-turned-nord from the night prior.

"It seems we're connected now, even outside of your dreams. So no, I'm not 'kidding' you ", his arms moving to cross over his chest, muscles bulky but still slim compared to a normal nordic man it seemed to be a similar build to Jon Battle-Born or those dunmer hunter brothers.

"So you hear my thoughts now?" She questioned him, arms also folding, glaring at him. He simply chuckled in response.

"Well, it appears whatever is going on, it's linked to you. Perhaps your dragon soul isn't compatible with your mortal body, hmm?" Taunting her seemed to be Mirmulnir's newfound hobby, but of course, what else was a dragon supposed to do when trapped in the consciousness of his mortal slayer? Throwing her arms up in a huff she turned her back on the newfound headache and crossed the bridge, very unenthusiastic for the next leg of her journey now she had an unwanted companion.

Mirmulnir couldn't stop his evil grin as he followed close behind Gustha, having finally grown used to his new body. 'Oh geh,' he thought 'this is going to be entertaining.'