» Sun Jul 01, 2012 4:54 pm It was almost insane for someone to scale a mountain in the night, but for him it was his only option. He just left a camp site that he made in the woods where he knew They wouldn't find him. It was Them that he was running from, because They wanted something. Something very valuable, priceless even. It was destroyed though, for he was left with no other choice. He would have died if he didn't.
But They still wanted him dead, so he fled Cyrodiil for Skyrim, where he figured he'd be safe.
The flame was burnt out, but he had scaled the dark side of the mountain. Now the moon shone down and illuminated his descent. As soon as he reached the bottom he found a place to stop and rest. It was here that he heard the sounds of the dogs, and the shouts of men. He tried to hide, but to no avail. He figured it to be the Empire, they would be they only ones this organized. They were chasing people, all were wearing the same odd armor with a blue sash. He remember looking up at a guard, and then blackness...
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“Hey, you. Wake up, were getting close.”
His eyes slowly open. He is conscious of those around him, but his body is not yet ready to break its slumber. He looks at his feet, senses slowly coming back to me. He sees the wooden planks below him, hears the clopping of hooves over brick. He smells the pine from the trees, feels the cold wind against his bare arms, and the leather bindings across his wrists. And he also tastes, but what is it? Blood. His blood to be specific. And then he recalls the sword hilt to his face, which put him in this harrowing predicament here in the first place. He feels around for any missing teeth, and finds a gap where the one next to his molar used to reside.
Damned Imperials.
“You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that imperial ambush. Same as us, and that thief over there.”
The Bosmer looks up for the first time. He is surrounded by faired skinned men, all bound same as he. The one in front of me is dressed in some kind of blue scarf and chainmail, and to his left he notices the man’s dress. The man he is talking about, the thief is a simple tunic, and he can see discontent and fear in the man’s face.
“Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was nice until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy.” The thief lashed out. “If they hadn’t been looking for you, I could’ve stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell. You there. You and me, we shouldn’t be here. Its these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”
“Were all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.” The Nord said.
“Shut up back there!” This time from the carriage bearer.
The elf looked again to his right, noticing now for the first time the cloth around the mans mouth.
“Who’s this? Why is he gagged and not us?” It was the wood elf’s first words since he woke up, and as soon as he spoke he felt the rasp.
“This man is the rightful high king of Skyrim. Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm and leader of the rebellion. He is gagged because he, unlike most in Tamriel, has the gift of the Shout. He used it to slay the old high king, which is why we’re here now.”
“But if they captured you, oh Gods. Where are they taking us?”
The Nord looked ahead of them. There was a town ahead.
“This looks like Helgen. My nephew used to live here. . . he died in the battle of Northwatch Keep. He awaits me at the gates of Sovngarde. . . Where are you from, thief?”
“We’re heading to our execution! Why is my name of relevance?!” The thief snapped.
“Because a true Nords last thoughts should be of home. . .”
“No, they won’t kill me. I’ll tell them that I’m not one of you. They’ll understand. Guard! I’m not a Stormcloak, release me!”
“Be quiet thief, or I’ll slay you where you sit. You may not be a Stormcloak, but you’re a felon nonetheless. Be glad you have survived this far.”
The wood elf looked at the thief. “The Empire cares not for its people, but only for war. Save your words, they are of no use.”
The carriage turns into a wall and stops. The elf sees that the Empire had been awaiting their arrival. They were to be executed, no doubt for treason against the Empire, in the middle of the town. Murdered in cold blood in front of women and children. They all file out, one by one. The Bosmer was the last to go. They called each of them in line, by name. The thief’s name was Rokir. He tried to flee when he was called to the block, but was shot down by archers.
Disgusting pigs, he was innocent.
“You, Bosmer, come.”
He stood his ground. The Imperial studied him, then look back down at his sheet. “What is your name?”
“My name is Protheus.”
The guard looked down again; subtle hints of confusion could be seen on his face. “His name is not on the list, do we free him?” He looked to the woman next to him, she must have been the officer.
“No. He dies today like everyone else.”
The Bosmer spat at her feet and scowled. “So you murder me, a Bosmer out of cold blood? I care not for your stupid war, I’m not a Nord or a thief? Where is your percipience?”
“Enough.” The commander roared. “To the block. You shall die first.” Her face was red with indignation, but the Bosmer was calm and collected, even as she forcefully pushed him in front of the others. He had a plan. He stumbled up to the block, but stopped a few paces short of it, knowing she would push him ahead. Right as soon as he stopped however he heard the most peculiar of sounds. A roar that seems to echo through the skies as if the skies themselves was its source. Everything stopped for the slightest of seconds, and as the elf glanced around him he noticed both the executioner and the officer looking up as well. The edge of his lips curled into a smile, it was time.
He leaped forwards, arms raised, and spun around, avoiding the man’s axe. When he turned, he brought his arms down to the axe and yanked back, breaking his hands free. At once he was upon the officer, who was still focused on the sky. He grabbed her sword and pulled it from its sheath, then took his arm around her throat. She was fast to react, but not fast enough. He put the blade to her throat, pulled it into her skin, pushing her back against him, he grabbed her other arm with his free hand. All eyes were on him now, and all swords were drawn. The Stormcloaks were all in battle position, ready to fight their way out at the slightest opening. He could hear her shallow, panicked breaths now. He was in control.
“Unhand her, now!” A man called out. His armor was the most embroidered. He must’ve been the captain.
“Let me go or she dies.” Protheus demanded. He’d backed himself into a corner, to be able to see everyone, and move out of easy range of the archers. They could still shoot at him, but they would miss from this distance.
“You are out-manned and surrounded. There’s no way for you to go. Hand her over or you die!”
“Then she dies with me!” He said back. “You should have let me go when you have the chance.”
He looked into the captain’s eyes. The captain’s eyed were flooded with rage, his jaw locked in contemplation and anger. Then the sound was heard again. Another roar, this time closer. He looked up, but saw nothing. Then he heard the flapping of wings, and his heart sank.
No, it can’t be! They’ve disappeared centuries ago!
But it was. It landed on the tower above him and he saw it in all its glory. A dragon. But not just any dragon. It was Alduin, the World-Eater. Back from the realms of eternity. His father told him of the time of the dragon’s rule. How Alduin’s tyranny destroyed the lands for years until finally some were able to stop him. But they didn’t defeat him, they had used an Elder Scroll to send him into the realm of eternity, where there was only nothingness. He was to be trapped there for what they hoped was forever.
But forever is over.
The dragon roared, and then thy skies turned to soot. The clouds began to swirl together, and flaming rocks fell from the heavens. It seemed so unreal, the elf didn't want to believe it was happening. But still, his instincts told him to run. He made it to a tower, noticing some had also made it there. He entered it, noticing that the man named Ulfric had been freed of his bondage as well.
"What in the gods! I never thought I'd see the day. That's a damn dragon out there!"
"Not just any dragon," if was Ulfric who spoke up. "That was Alduin. He is back from his imprisonment, come to consume our souls."
"We have to get out of here, lets climb these stairs." This was the Nord speaking now. They climbed the steps until it was broken by the dragon itsself. Up close, Protheus could see his eyes, red with the fury of a demon. Protheus nearly fell down the steps trying to back away, and with good reason, because a pillar of fire erupted through the hole, nearly scorching both of them to ashes.
"Protheus, the only way to safety is down through that way. Try to jump through to the house." Protheus looked at the Nord and nodded. He'd dropped further distances, but on soft, sturdy dirt. Not something this stiff and weak. It was the only safe way though, with Adluin roaming the skies. "I'll meet up with you on the other side. I have to escort Ulfric."
Protheus looked down again, his stomach churning. Then he looked up and saw the dragon was turning back around, and headed for the tower. Without further hesitation, he jumped.
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And that concludes this installment. Comments and criticism needed, not just wanted.
