*WARNING: This tale contains mild swearing and (hopefully) humorous snark from the main character during the original happenings of the game, with a few twists of course. Said snark is based upon my own inner monologue.*
Well, that could have gone better, I thought as consciousness returned to me. I was sitting in a cart that was bumping down a road towards Gods knew where and my hands were tied in front of me. I was wearing a ragged tunic and leggings and my nice, warm, insulated clothes were nowhere to be seen.
The man sitting in front of me smiled, "Good you're awake, I was beginning to think they'd done you in."
"Do the Imperials usually bludgeon people traveling along the roads, tie them up in a cart with three strange men and take them on a tour of the country?" I rolled my shoulders and tried to ignore the pounding in my head. "Because this doesn't seem very good for tourism, just saying."
Before the blonde Nord could answer, the driver spoke in an annoyed voice, "Shut up back there!" We, like the good prisoners we were, ignored him.
"So what are the chances of there being a hot bath and some clean clothes at the end of this trip?" The Nord's face darkened, "None? Damn."
A small, fortified town came into view past the trees. Guards patrolled the ramparts, bows strung and quivers full. An armed guard fell into place around us. I quirked an eyebrow; apparently, there was an important prisoner among us. It certainly wasn't me.
The cart pulled to a stop in the center of the town. As we disembarked, I caught sight of what awaited me; a headsmen’s block. Right, note to self. Next time you want to move somewhere, don’t. The Empire is apparently discouraging it. Vehemently.
Waiting in line for them to take my name and birthplace (so they can send my remains back to my grieving family with a bouquet, no doubt), I learned some very interesting tidbits of information. The man who had been bound and gagged (he’d been in my cart, but I’d ignored him because, well, gagged.) was apparently named Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, quite the moniker if I do say so myself. The blonde man who’d spoken with me was Ralof of Riverwood and the terrified man was Lokir of Rorikstead. I said ‘was’ because the fool man tried to outrun an arrow.
“Name?”
“Aeron Yale.” It wasn’t, but it would do for this situation. I didn’t particularly want my family to get my body, thank-you-very-much. Moving to Skyrim was all about getting away from my family, I wasn’t about to go back to them this soon, not even dead.
“You from Daggerfall?”
“Wayrest, actually.” That part was true. I was born there, but my family had long since moved elsewhere. The soldier nodded absently.
“Captain, she’s not on the list.”
The Captain, a tall, severe woman, sneered. “She goes to the block, just like the rest of them.” I raised my eyebrows; coming to Skyrim was turning out to be a Very Bad idea indeed.
Once we were all lined up so that they could cut off our heads systematically, and General Tullius had accused Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of using some kind of “Voice” to kill the High King -I wasn’t quite sure how one could use their voice to kill another person; I mean, I’ve heard of talking someone’s ear off, but not of actually killing them by having a conversation- the heads began to fly.
And by “heads” I really mean “head” because as soon as they finished beheading the first volunteer, a giant black dragon flew from the mountains and started to rain fireballs down on us. The soldiers, of course, didn’t do the logical thing, which would be to seek shelter in the very sturdy looking stone keep. No, they ran around like skeevers with their heads cut off or stared at it dumbly.
“What is that?!” General Tullius’ voice was rather shaken, but at least he’d gotten his bow out and had started firing arrows at it, rather than looking at it in horror.
“Well, it’s not a particularly talented bear, that’s for certain. If I had to hazard a guess I’d say it was a--”
“Dragon!!” The guard’s voice was annoyingly high pitched as she identified the giant winged lizard.
“Yeah, that.” All I got for my comment is a glare. Some people have no taste in humor.
Whilst the Imperials and guards were busy fighting the dragon or screaming in terror, Ralof and the rest of the surviving prisoners were making their escape. I’d intended to leave by, you know, the main gate, but Ralof grabbed my wrist on his way past me and dragged me along towards a tower.
“Jarl Ulfric, do you think the legends are true?” Ah, so ‘Jarl’ was a title then, and not part of the man’s name.
“I know one thing, that doesn’t look like any legend I’ve ever seen. It has the distinct advantage of being, you know, real.” I stressed the last word and ignored the Jarl shooting me a dirty look; I’d gotten more terrifying looks from chickens. “Soooo, what do we do now? You do realize this is a tower. Ergo, no passageways to other buildings.”
“We escape.” Ralof made it sound as easy as breathing. I rolled my eyes and decided to follow the obviously crazy Nord men. It’s not like I had anything better to do with my time. And hey, I was one to talk.
*Edit 10/10/14 for spelling/grammar, indents, and adding a few lines to help future chapters*
Chapter 1
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