User:Minor Edits/Skyrim: Dragonborn

Morndas, morning, 16th of Last Seed, 4E 201

prisoner opened his eyes to gaze upon his Warden. Beneath his mask, he almost smiled. "You're afraid now?"

"You know nothing of fear," his Warden replied. "Your pitiful whispers pose no threat to me."

The prisoner stood, knowing his Warden's bluster when he heard it. Now, he did smile. "What terms do you offer?"

"None."

The prisoner cocked his head. "Then why are you here?"

"Another has emerged. The Last. He will come for you, here, in time."

The prisoner's smile faded, his mind racing. With a crack, his delight turned to anger. "Why tell me?" he demanded to know.

"To accelerate the process." With that, the Warden vanished.

The prisoner was left again with nothing but his thoughts. Long moments passed as the Warden's voice echoed around him. Knowing he had no other choice, the prisoner let out an impotent roar of rage, squeezed his eyes shut again, and once again plucked on the strands of dreams.

Turdas, evening, 5th of Hearth Fire, 4E 201

Had some wine I stole from the monks. The bottle at breakfast was good, but that Alto stuff I had for lunch was like watery piss. Never doing that again. The Alto stuff, neither.

I hope the Vilemyr is well stocked. I want some more of that honey ale.

Though I wonder if they have any Argonian Ale? The Whiterun beggar sure liked it. He

"What are you doing?" Lydia demanded to know. She was thankful her thane had stopped jabbering for once during their trip down the mountain, but her curiosity got the better of her.

"Hmm? Well, I read this book at the monastery that said it was important to record your life story," Dovah responded. "You know, the important stuff."

"Let me see," his housecarl replied, grabbing the red journal he had been scribbling in. "... You're just writing down what you had to drink!"

"Right. The important stuff."

Lydia sighed, tossing the journal back at him. "Put it away and pay attention. We're almost in Ivarstead."

"Almost? We're basically in Ivarstead already," he retorted, fumbling with the journal. "The danger's passed."

"You think there's no danger entering a town?" Lydia asked scornfully. "If anything, there's more."

"Ooo, yeah, that loon Narfi might mistake me for his sister and give me a hug," Dovah laughed, carefully dipping his quill again into a small inkwell he had cusped in the palm of his hand. "What, you think another troll is just going to pop out from under this bridge?"

Dovah's delicate balancing act abruptly failed as Lydia slapped the ink well out of his hand, shattering the vial on the bridge leading into the small hamlet at the base of the Throat of the World.

"Hey!" Dovah exclaimed crossly. "I'll have that taken out of your pay!"

Lydia didn't respond, she just pointed. Two masked figures in matching maroon leather attire were by the lumbermill, walking swiftly towards them. Their right arms and left forearms were encased in golden scales, and they each had a dagger secured at their wastes. But by far the most noticeable things about them were their identical masks: carved out of some sort of white bone, they completely covered their faces. Wrapping around their skulls and around their mouth areas were sculpted white tentacles, as if some skeletal squid had latched onto their heads and frozen there. Spirals carved into the bone marked their eyes.

Dovah stopped in his tracks, gaping. "Whoa, weird..."

"You there!" the bigger one called out in a muffled male voice with an accent Lydia couldn't place. He was pointing at Dovah as he marched closer. "You're the one they call Dragonborn?"

Dovah shrugged. "The Greybeards seem to think so... can you see me through those things?"

The robed figure had already turned away to his companion, who had unmistakably feminine curves. "Then it is too late. The lie had already taken root in the hearts of men." He looked back at Dovah and pointed. "So we shall expose to them the falseness in their hearts by tearing out yours, Deceiver!"

Lydia's sword was out in a flash, but Dovah just crossed his arms. "You dicks are really hurting my argument. Listen, how about we just—"

The bigger one drew his dagger, screaming, "When Lord Miraak appears all shall bear witness! None shall stand to oppose him!"

FUS RO!

Dovah's Shout took both cultists in front of him off the ground, and they skidded several feet along the dirt road, coming to a stop in a tangle of robes.

"Oh, how about that?" Dovah delighted as he unslung his bow. "Did that seem deceptive to you, bonehead?"

Lydia ran forward and swiped at the bigger attacker as he struggled to get up. He just barely managed to get his scaled arm up to block the blow with a grunt. His smaller companion quickly recovered and unleashed a crackling stream of lightning at Lydia. The housecarl shook in shock and pain as the spell coursed through her, though she could see the town guards running towards the fight on the road behind the attackers. Hurry! By the gods, hurry!

The bigger attacker had time to rise to his feet, a hint of blood trickling down his arm. Gripping his dagger he lunged forward — and then slumped to the ground again. An arrow stuck out between the sculpted tentacles on his head.

Lydia dimly heard Dovah give a cry of success, but the shock of the magical attack had faded, leaving her with nothing but gut-wrenching pain. She tried to stumble forward, but at seeing her companion fall, the other robed figured screamed in rage and stepped up her attack, shooting lightning at Lydia with both hands.

One of the guardsmen finally reached the scene, and needed no time to determine who the enemy was. He raised his axe as he charged up behind the masked attacker in robes. She was forced to break off her attack, and Lydia slumped to the ground, breathing heavily. In one fluid motion, her attacker effortlessly spun out of the way of the guard's charge, drew her dagger, and slashed open a large gash on his arm, sending the hapless guard stumbling to the ground, crying out in pain.

The masked woman sprayed streams of lightning at the two other guards rushing to the scene, forcing them to take cover behind some barrels. She screamed again, this time in pain, as another arrow from Dovah found her shoulder. She turned her magical attack upon him, and he found himself in the same position Lydia had been in, gritting his teeth and trying to keep his whole body from shaking.

Seeing the two guards charging at her again, the masked woman quickly flung her dagger at them with a snap of her wrist. It buried itself around the first guard's collar bone, and he stumbled backward, tripping up the guard behind him. She turned her attention back to Dovah and began striding toward him — but in her pain and rage, she forgot all about Lydia behind her, who had caught her breath.

With two quick lunges, Lydia closed the distance and stabbed the other woman through the back. With a gurgle and the sickening squeal of flesh and leather scraping on metal, the woman slid off Lydia's blade and onto the ground, breathing her last.

"What in Oblivion was that?" Lydia gasped at Dovah. "I nearly died!"

"He was gonna stab you!" Dovah objected.

"And she already was electrocuting me, you bastard!" Lydia shrieked.

"Yeah, I bet that hurt, huh?"

"Oh, you f—"

"Shor's bones... he's dead!" yelled the uninjured guard, who was crouched over his comrade. Lydia's expression softened as she turned to see this. The guard pulled out the dagger from his friend's chest and sniffed it. "This has been coated in poison!"

The guard whose arm had been sliced went ever paler in horror, and he slumped to the ground, his eyelids fluttering.

"Whoa, hold on, friend!" Dovah yelled, racing over and calling forth restoration energy to his hands. He released the white-gold energy upon the guard's arm. Though the wound stopped bleeding, but the guard's eyes closed as he lost consciousness.

"This man needs a healer!" Lydia urgently called out and pointed as more guards ran up. As they picked up the guard and quickly shuffled away with him, Lydia turned back to Dovah and folded her arms.

"See? You'd probably be dead if he had stabbed you," Dovah offered.

Lydia didn't answer him, and instead just watched Magnus set for a moment. "I'm done with this," she finally declared, turning away. "When we get back Whiterun, I'm requesting a transfer."

"But…"

"But what?"

"But I'm the… Dragonborn."

Lydia nodded at the robed bodies. "They didn't seem to think so. And neither do I. You're no savior. You're just some freak who can Shout. I am done with you."

With that, she marched toward the Vilemyr Inn, missing the hurt look in Dovah's eyes. He began rifling the pockets of the dead as villagers approached. They whispered to each other about the strangers before them, living and dead.

To Ulfric Stormcloak, the one true High King of Skyrim:

Please forgive me, my liege, for I am a simple soldier, not a writer. But you asked me to write all I know about the man who helped me escape Helgen, the man who you believe is now Thane of Whiterun, and who the people of Whiterun have called Dragonborn, and I will do so as best I can.

I did not see this man until I woke in back of the carrage after the cowardly Imperial ambush at Darkwater Crossing. I would have died there if you had not ordered us to lay down arms, and for that, you have my etternal thanks.

You were with me on that carrage, and know all that I do. This man did not seem to have a voice, and remained silent until the dragon attacked. When he did speak, I could not place his axent. You were with me in the tower, when he faced down the dragon without fear. Purhaps that should have given me pause, but there was too much kaos to dwell upon it at the time.

How I was seperated from your side during the dragon attack, I still do not know, to my shame. I searched for you in the courtyard for a long time, but in stead I found Hadvar, a man I once knew in Riverwood who is now an Imperial dog. We spoke harshly to each other, during which the man you seek to learn about aproached. I and Hadvar fled in different paths, and the man came with me inside Helgen Keep.

There, we found the body of Gunjar, another of your personal guard, slain by Imperial scum. I said that it seemed like we were the only survivers, and he said that he thought the dragon was still alive, too. This was when I first susspected that the man was not right.

We armed ourselves, and soon saw two Imperials, one of whom was the Captain who had ordered the man's execution. I took cover, but the man aproached her openly, saying she needed a lesson in execution etikette. I killed her companion, while the man fought and wounded the captain. He told her that before desiding to execute someone, she must be shure that she could so. He said this in the manner one speaks to children, and then beheaded her.

When next we fought Imperials in the fort, the man abandoned me. I fought and killed three Imperials while he searched around in crates. He offered me no apology. He said he fought the captain because she had tried to have him killed, but harbered no hatred for the Empire. He did not seem to know what the Empire was. I asked him what he remembered, and he spoke of butterflies, cheese, and an elf who called him a pussiefoot. He did not even know his own name.

I asked him to help me escape, and he agreed. But tho he could swing a sword, he knew little about fighting. More than once, he almost got us both killed with reckless behavyor, and he said he had never seen a Frostbite Spider. But we fought our way to an under ground passage to the wilderness.

We traveled to Riverwood, where my sister took us in. But during our trip, we passed by the Guardian Stones. My liege, I grew up in Riverwood. No one has received a blessing from the Stones since my father was a boy. But for this man, the stones lit up. He touched the Mage Stone, and a constelation of light appeared upon it, and a great beam of light shot up into the heavens.

As we walked, it came clear that the man did not know many common expressions. He knew nothing of Talos, or of you, my liege, or of this righteous war we fight on our god's behalf. He was ignorent of not only the year, but of the Era. He began jumping for no reason, like he had never done it before. He even jumped on top of bolders and spun around as fast as he could. He seemed fassinated by the smallest details around us. The sky. Flowers along the path. Salmon jumping in the White River.

We met with my sister and parted ways. I had to return here, to Windhelm, and pray for your return, while the man went to Whiterun to inform Jarl Balgruuf of the attack on Helgen. But my time with this man now called Dragonborn taught me this, and only this: he is completely mad.

Your loyal servant,

Ralof of Riverwood

The Tale continues in Ancestral Worship.