The Slaves of War
An elder scrolls-lore based story
Written by N.I.L (Next In Line)
Intro
The battle spread itself across the lands. The time of war had come upon Skyrim for years, and within these battles, there were many innocent blood that were spilt. This is the story of their life.
Chapter One: The Slave
As the ashes cleared in the fields of grey, the Nords made their final movements of ending their war. The Nords marched to their camp, shoulders broad, heads held high as if they were kings themselves. They felt victory within every inch of their bodies. They had won, and they had deserved it. Their faces full of tears, blood and joy, they cried in mixed feelings of sadness and happiness. Except two men. The first man walked in small but fast footsteps, with a frown on his young, white face. Unlike the rest of the soldiers, his face showed no traces of dirt nor any blood. The second man, tall and walking like a lion, had a smile that could dare compare to the sun.
“Well, my dear brother.” Said the first man.
“I followed you here just to prove our father, the Jarl of Sunhold to show that I’m not just a man behind books and chess-But I daresay I cannot find the ‘spark’ that men are fueled with in order to win a war.” The second man laughed-each laugh like a small roar of a lion.
“Aye, I never really did understand how you could sit still and read a book for a whole day.” The second man paused before continuing, as if pondering again upon his brother’s obsession for knowledge, rather than raw power.
“Don’t you get bored? Or even tired?” The first man merely smiled.
“My dear brother Talon! From the moment we were born, I like to believe we are the reincarnations of gods themselves, in human form. I like to think I am Julianos, the god of magic and wisdom-though I know nothing of magic. And I deduct that you are the rebirth of the great Talos.”
Talon, the second man grinned in his brother’s expected reply. It was what he wanted to hear. The two brothers, Talon and Ralon were sons of the Jarl of Sunhold, Jarl Fordolf. As thanes and heirs to their father’s throne, in time they discovered their talents, and wished to gain their father’s favor through them. It was their own, individual path and method, and only time would tell whose would lead to the Jarl’s throne. As Ralon scanned the camp, he found five prisoners, tied and lined up for interrogation-or worse. The prisoners of war were captured in many different ways. Some were deserters; surrendering from the enemy side in order to preserve their lives and some were resisters; warriors who fought till the bitter end, but however were captured, with no hope of an ‘honorable death.’
“As you see milords, we captured five men in total. I doubt these bandit dogs will be of any use in seeking-“
“How dare you, you Sunhold oaf! Atleast have the decency to call us by our true names! We are the Forsworn! Don’t you dare compare us to that of mere bandits, who raid villages, and slay the innocent!”
The soldier looked down from inside his grey dome-shaped helmet, and shot a fiery look at the Nord prisoner. Without a word and in a swift motion, the soldier drew his sword, a long, steel blade and brought it down upon the prisoner’s head. Before any of the brothers could even utter a word to control the soldier’s actions, a prisoner from the far left side of the row leapt with his two tied feet and tied arms, and brought upon his full weight to the soldier’s body, toppling the executioner to the ground. All the men froze for a second-of what seemed like a full minute. No-one had seen the prisoner leapt so fast. Suddenly the camp was filled with the high-pitched ringing of Nordic steel, and it seemed like the prisoner’s brief moment of freedom was overtaken by the vast amount of soldiers. But to the men’s surprise, the prisoner waste a second in his actions. By the time the soldiers had surrounded him, the prisoner had already freed himself with the sword of the soldier struggling to get up, and had armed himself with a nearby mace and a steel waraxe. Ralon, staring in shock with his unique peacefulness drained from his face, directed his frantic eyes at his warrior brother for help, having no confidence of in his soldiers’ skill. However, the second brother merely watched with the smallest hint of a smile, with curiosity burning in his young, brown eyes.
“Make this easier for all of us and drop the weapons! There’s no hope for escape! You should know that!”
The prisoner’s face, although mostly covered by the head of the stag, showed a fearful grin which revealed two massive canines jutting from his lower jaw. Knowing that the prisoner will not reply, the first soldier charged like a bull, holding his shield outwards and raising his mace. The other soldiers knew that the first man was always the hardest. They readied themselves for their timing to take down the prisoner upon the smallest sign of his guard faltering. However, the prisoner dodged the clumsy soldier’s strike, and while the soldier struggled to ready his mace again, the prisoner’s mace drew a horizontal arc towards the soldier’s helmet, sending a torrent of force towards the head, knocking the soldier down. At that moment two more soldiers charged-this time, from the back. As if it was expected, the prisoner spun once again, in a wider, 180 degree arc, hitting the first soldier’s greatsword with his mace, and striking the second’s shoulder with his axe. The second soldier, screaming in pain, dropped to both knees, clutching his shoulder, and letting his grasp fall loose on his sword. The first soldier strafed backwards, and swung the great blade in the same 180 degree arc at the prisoner. Much to the soldier’s surprise, the prisoner did not strafe backwards or sideways, but had crouched to the ground. Like a sabre cat tears a deer, the prisoner brought upon his axe and mace together this time, directed to the head. In an explosion of blood, the soldier fell to his knees, dying without uttering in a word. The remaining soldiers, under their helmets felt fear striking from their eyes, and had a conflict of emotion and thought. Their minds told them that this man was dangerous, far beyond anything that they had faced, but their emotions were an inferno, wanting nothing but revenge. Only a few feet away, the warrior brother looked confused.
‘How did he become a prisoner? It is highly unlikely that he was captured, and what man in their right mind would surrender with this amount of skill?’
The remaining soldiers, totaling twenty-three men, became frozen by the single dominating aura of the prisoner. Even the other prisoners were focused on this prisoner’s fate, their eyes locked on every movement of his body, forgetting their needs to escape.
“Enough!”
Suddenly, the tension broke, and everyone looked at Ralon, who had for once, seemed like a real king, eyes blazing and giving off a king’s dominating presence.
“You! Prisoner! I acknowledge your value so quit this useless carnage!”
The young thane was slightly sweating, having stood up for himself in a long time. He could feel the prisoner’s gaze, from under his headdress, half of curiosity and half of bloodthirst. It was the gaze of a predator, deciding whether what it sees is prey or friend.
And with a moment of silence that passed by, the prisoner dropped his weapons, and fell to one knee, assuming the position of submission. A sigh escaped Ralon’s breath, and he walked calmly towards the prisoner. To his surprise and great disappointment, his soldiers made no effort to stop the young thane in his tracks, frozen by fear and confusion.
Now only a there was the small distance of three feet that separated the savage and the lord.
“What is your name, prisoner?”
Ralon asked.
“… I have no name milord.”
“What? Then… What did they call you then?”
Ralon asked and he gestured to the other prisoners.
The slave replied in a gruff monotone.
“They called me slave sir. You see, I had a history of masters before me ever since I was eight. These masters bought me quite recently from my previous master.”
Ralon was surprised. “Then… You’re not part of the Forsworn rebellion? What are you? Are you even a Nord?”
The slave laughed. His laugh was short and quiet, like a dying man’s peaceful last breath.
“I can only answer so many questions at once milord. I promise you I will tell you everything I know, only if you promise to be my new master, and spare my life.”
Upon the slave’s statement, the soldiers woke up from their prison of fear, and shouted against the prisoner.
“Milord! Let me kill this insolent slave!”
“You cannot be serious, Milord! He killed Mirus and Fargar!”
“Shut up slave and prepare to die!”
“SILENCE!”
The young thane commanded with the king’s presence again.
“This man is but a mere slave, but is more powerful that all of you combined, and you call yourselves men of Sunhold! You have no right to talk against my decisions! Let me remind you once more, that this is a war, and you either win or die!”
Turning to meet the slave’s gaze again, Ralon ignored the burning gaze of hate from his soldiers.
“I accept your request. However, know this: You will struggle as a slave struggles, only in war. Your bed is the battlefield, your prey your enemies. Everything you own, every emotion and soul and flesh belongs to me. You will not have the right to die until I grant it. You will be a slave built for battle, a soldier with no honor or code. You will be a slave of war.”
The prisoner faltered, every word sinking into him deeply. He had lived his just as this man had described it, yet something about how he had verbally described his life made him realize he had never lived something other than the call of the battlefield.
“Thank you….. Master.”
Ralon drew a breath in satisfaction.
“Now rise. I have given you purpose, now I shall give you a name…. Your name shall be Basara.”
As the slave rose, he asked his new master.
“What does that mean, master?”
The thane waited patiently as his new slave rose from the ground. He had the brains. Now he had gained muscle.
“It means rise.”
END OF CHAPTER ONE
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