Hunter's Rain - Chapter Two

• Posted by Tae-Rai July 11, 2015 - 315 views

  Chapter Two

  ~ ~ ~ Titan of the Ashlands ~ ~ ~

  Again and again, the soldier lashed out at me, his fist pummeling itself into my flesh. “Talk, elf! Tell us who you are!”

  Idiotic human. He was trying too hard to get my tongue to waggle. But I, Titan of the Ashlands, was not about to give it up so easily. His yells were echoing through the small clearing we were in, drowning out the noise of anvils banging and small conversation by the other Imperial soldiers around us. A few small tents were erect with sleeping men and women in them and the rest were working, resting or training. Barely anyone else turned an eye towards me.
  
  I sneered from my position upon the forest floor, the ropes binding my wrists together cutting into my ashen skin. I could feel blood dripping from a cut above my eye, dripping down over my brow and smearing the red warpaint upon my face. I spat at my torturer’s feet, causing the Imperial soldier to stumble back in disgust. “Go to Oblivion,” I snarled. “And say hi to your mother again for me !”

  *THUMP*

  A heavily armoured boot suddenly slammed into my side and I wheezed loudly, before spitting blood to my side. Damn bastard! I’ll split his ruddy head once I got out of here! I struggled against my binds, pain shooting through my ribs and back. I think they were broken, or at least cracked. As stars spun above my eyes, I saw two Imperial soldiers standing over me, their faces dark with fury.

  One issued an order to the other, which I didn’t hear properly, and the next thing I know, I was back on my feet. I was woozy but I could still mumble at them. “You… You’ll pay for this… You… You damn Imperials.”

  The one staring closest to me shook his head and a sneer crossed his face. “Bandits… All the same, no matter the race. Scum of the world.”

  That’s right, I’m a bandit. Or I was, at least. That’s what got me into this mess in the first place, tell you the truth. Should have stuck to raiding small caravans. But oh no, Klekr insisted on attempting to take the large one that was guarded by only ‘two soldiers’. The idiot couldn’t count unless it was a pair of tits and by Oblivion, he only saw them once every three moons!

  Where was I? Oh yeah, bandit. I came over from Morrowind many years after the Red Mountain exploded but unlike my brothers and sisters of the ash, I refused to enter Windhelm. Too many stories of Dunmer getting the short end of the stick by the Nords, too many tales of how horrible the humans were to my people. I didn’t believe it at first but now… Now I could see it.

  So, like a coward, I ran away. Ran away and started robbing and killing and doing what I needed to survive. I met up with like-minded folks and ran with them, soon earning everything I could ever want - women, coin, drink and a dry place to sleep. By the four, my parents would be so proud… I shook the image of my parents from my mind and returned to the present day. Too many bad memories, too many for me to deal with right now.

  The guards were escorting me to a carriage now, shoving me forward like I was a pig being led to the slaughter. I dug my feet in, but they simple shoved me even harder and even picked me up when I simply resisted further. I was tossed into the back roughly and that’s where I saw the rest of them. Three men were already there, bound and gagged with bits of cloth. No… Only one was.

  He appeared to very noble-looking in his fur-lined robes, a broad-shoulder Nord with the typical grizzled face and dirty blonde hair tied back with braids. As I landed roughly by his feet and pulled myself up onto the bench near him, his brown eyes turn to gaze upon me. I couldn’t help myself, I snapped at him, “What are you looking at, Nord!?”

  The second man of the three before me, another blonde man in some form of leather and fur armor, snapped back at me. “Watch your tongue! You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!” He glared at me after his statement, his eyes piercing into my own. My eyes flicked to his hands that were, while bound, clad in some barbaric gauntlets that appeared to have claws sprouting from the knuckles.

  Before I could get another word out of my mouth, the final man spoke. Unlike the others, he was in rags, appeared quite young and was filthy looking with dirt all over his hands, face and clothes. “Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? What are you doing here?”
  
  As he rattled on about the rebellion, my hands curled into fists. Stormcloak… Yes, I remember now. Currently, Skyrim was in the grip of a brutal civil war between the native Nords and the militant force of the Imperial Legion. I didn’t really care for the reasons behind the war, wasn’t my business anyway, but I knew it was bullshit either way. Who cares who worships what dead god? Don’t remember the Thalmor getting pissy at my ancestor for worshipping Viviec or the rest of the Reclamations. But Ulfric… He was the Jarl of Windhelm, the one place I swore to never go!

  The cart has quietened now, but I heard the dirty Nord admit he was from a town called Rorikstead after the second asked him. So we were being put to death, huh? Didn’t expect any better from the Empire, to be honest… Though I will admit I was growing more terrified by the second. I glanced over my shoulder and noticed a great gate was looming over us now as the carriage rolled towards a small city. A sign on the stone wall read a name - Helgen.
  
  “General Tullius sir, the headsman is waiting!”

  That was an Imperial soldier calling from by the gate as we rolled towards them, waving to a man who rode on ahead of us upon a white stallion. “Good, let’s get this over with!” the man known as the General replied as he trotted to the side and met with a trio of High Elves, all dressed in the black and gold uniforms of the Thalmor. Prissy-ass bitches…

  The second man wasn’t fond to see them either. “Damn elves. I bet they had something to with this!” Beside him, the dirty Nord was whimpering prayers to the divines and rocking back and forth on the seat, furiously pulling at his bindings.

  “Wh-Why are we stopping?” he stuttered, eyes widening in terror.

  “Why do you think?” the second replied in a bitter tone. “End of the line.”

  He was right. We pulled into a small circular area and we were surrounded by the stone walls of Helgen. Men and women, soldiers and civilians, were watching the carriage-loads of prisoners pull in. As I gazed around, I could see a variety of reactions. Pity. Shock. Disgust. Satisfaction.

  “Let’s go, shouldn’t keep the Gods waiting for us.” The second rose then and he kicked the dirty one in the shin, making him yelp and frantically hop down from the cart. The formal-looking one, Ulfric, glanced back at me and then followed, making the cart rock slightly. I was next and I walked slowly, shoulders squared and landed down after him.

  It was at this moment I could see how many Stormcloaks were among us. Lokir and myself were the only ones not wearing their colours (save their captors, of course). A few glanced towards us curiously as an Imperial in heavy plate steel approached us with a much younger lad by her side. He had a quill and paper in hand, possible to check off the soldiers.

  One by one, they were called forward and had their names crossed off by the guards. I glanced away as this was happening, focusing on a brawny Redguard a few feet away. He was sitting upon a stone block and had his dark eyes fixated on the rebels. Absent-mindedly, he strokes a whetstone down on the axe that was leaning against his lap, sharpening the already brutal edge to perfection. A shiver raced up my spine.

  “I’m not a rebel, you can’t do this!” I turned back at the sound of the third’s voice, (I think they said his name was Lokir?) before I watched him break into a sprint, away from the soldiers. He sent a final taunt at the Imperials, “Not gonna kill me!”

  “Archers!”

  At the last moment of his sentence, an legionnaire rounded the corner of the tower near us and drew his sword, thrusting it into Lokir’s chest as the man sped towards him. Archers from afar put at least three arrows in the lad’s back too. No remorse was given as the sword-wielder merely kicked the corpse away, pulling his sword free and wiping it.

  The Imperial note-taker made a face of disgust and turned to me now. “Well, that was pleasant. Now, who may you be?”
  
  “I am Titan of the Ashlands,” I boasted in a confident voice. “And I am not a part of these so-called rebels you have captured!”

  “Um…” The young man tapped his page and looked rather confused. “Another refugee? Gods really have abandoned your people, Dark Elf.” He looked to the woman beside him. “Captain, what should we do? He’s not on the list, nor a rebel…”
  
  The captain looked at me with a hateful look. “He may not be a rebel, but he was captured on the grounds of banditry. So forget the list, he goes to the block!”

  Typical. I turned away as the first Imperial rushed an apology at me. A grunt escaped my lips and I looked to the sky. The General I saw earlier, Tullius, was having a one-way shouting match at Ulfric. Apparently the Jarl murdered the High King with his voice… Was that the name of his sword?
  
  RARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH~
  
  My attention was distracted again when a sound louder than anything else I’ve heard rang through Helgen. Louder than a bear’s roar, more brutal than a war cry, it drove everyone to silence. Some questioned it but were quickly silenced by their companions. Somehow, I felt drawn to it… What beast could do such a sound?

  I shook my head and shrugged. It was probably just a bear in a gorge, making it’s cry echo. I watched a Nord approach the chopping block, his head held high and his voice calling out his dedication to Ulfric’s cause. Before I could blink, he was down and his head rolled into a wooden crate by the chopping block.

  “You Imperial bastards!”
  
  “Justice!”
  
  “Death to the Stormcloaks!”
  
  The citizens of Helgen were hollering at the scene, both for and against the Imperials. I heard another cry come out from the Captain. “You there, you’re next!”A quick glance to the front made me realise it wasn’t me being called forward but a red-headed woman amongst the Stormcloaks.

  The echoing roar came again, much louder this time, however it was simply dismissed once more. I turned away from the proceedings, not wishing to see any more bloodshed today, and began watching a child who stood nearby, staring at the decapitated head. Nords… They called us barbaric and let they would allow a child to watch an execution?

  However, before I could process this for much longer, the sound came a third time and then, by the four, what was that?!
  
  A huge black creature of scales landed upon the tower above me, staring down with blood-red eyes, covered in spikes and a wide open maw. It roared and I heard the people around me cry out in fear.
  
  “Dragon!”

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