This may or may not involve The Elder Scrolls.

Life began for him far from the land where dragons roamed free. He came from an island east of Morrowind, unimportant to the world, and devoid of an official name because of it's smallness. Most residents preferred to call it the Wavecloak, because of the vicious currents and restless weather that surged around it daily. It was a rather boring and sometimes miserable town (or "townling") that he was born, for there was never really anything to invest one's life in, like wars or colleges, because there was no need or no reason to have them. Proper education had never existed, and the occasional household lesson hardly counted. If one was seeking education, they would have to travel far away, and Wavecloak residents were simply too lazy for that. Most of the people living there had Nordic bloodlines, because a ragtag group of Nords had discovered the island thousands of years ago and settled it for themselves.  

The man, named Aeragis, had spent his entire life on Wavecloak, growing up with his mother Dairtha and two older brothers, Ferran and Gravis. His mother was a Nord through and through, but his father was Cyrodiilic. Aeragis looked far more alike his mother, but thought more like his father.

His father, Ario, had disappeared when Aeragis had only been seven, but no one understood how or why. Some supposed that he'd set off on his own to Tamriel, to fulfill his “obsession” with the mysteries of dragons. Dragons were reptilian creatures capable of breathing out fire and ice from their mouths, uttering powerful “Shouts”, and of flying on massive, scaly wings. They had once ruled and ravaged the distant province of Skyrim, but no longer.

Everyone on Wavecloak had deemed Ario a fool for believing such tales, but Aeragis found the stories of the great creatures enticing.

Aeragis had decided to leave home himself when he'd turned twenty-seven. Life on Wavecloak had become far too predictable and bland for his liking.. That, and the fact that he supposedly was a failure at anything and everything, according to his brothers. Aeragis couldn't clean, he couldn't hunt, adored his father's ridiculous stories, and he was "devoid of any important knowledge at all". So, he had set off to sea in search of a place more exciting, and less.. Of Ferran and Gravis. Aeragis had once read, in his local library, that Skyrim was the place to go if one sought adventure. It was the place that he believed his father had gone, and so, on a quiet day, Aeragis had left his home on a small, foreign trade ship, with nothing but a small pack of books, foods, and the clothing on his back.

After a month of getting seasick, reading up on Skyrim and eating dried meat, Aeragis had arrived in Tamriel. For many weeks he traveled by cart and by foot down dusty cobblestone and dirt roads, until finally, he reached the infamous province of Skyrim.

Unfortunately for Aeragis, the other provinces he had gone through had not said much to him of the war in Skyrim, and their distrust of foreign people crossing the border.



. . .



Bane of Alduin.. Awaken.

At first, the sole thing Aeragis could hear were slurred, distorted-sounding voices, and the only thing in his vision was an endless chasm of blackness. His head was throbbing madly, and the ground beneath his feet was quaking and jerking abnormally.

Awaken!

"Ugh.." Aeragis put a hand to his forehead, as if to calm the pounding ache nagging at his brain. The iron chains clamping his wrists scraped painfully against the raw skin beneath.

It all hit him then.

When he had arrived at the border, he'd been confronted by what he now knew were Imperial soldiers. They had accused him of being an invader from another province, for he'd apparently (and unknowingly) been aboard a cart stocked with "Stormcloak" weapons. Though he'd denied his supposed treachery a countless amount of times, Aeragis simply did not have any favourable odds on his side to prove his innocence. He'd been knocked out and drugged, and from then the young man's memories failed him.

"Well, look who’s finally come around."

Aeragis blinked, the blur obscuring his vision ebbing away to reveal the scene before him.

He was in a horse-drawn cart. Three other men were with him, and the blonde man who had just spoken was sitting across from him. There was someone beside Aeragis, but he didn't bother to look. The one diagonal to him glared at the ground, dark hair falling into his face. Glancing to the left, Aeragis noticed an Imperial soldier, probably low-ranking, steering the horse. Several other carts were being pulled along the same path farther ahead.

"Did you try to cross the border, or are you a thief?" inquired the man across from Aeragis, shoulder-length hair jumping as the cart went over a rock. "Those Imperials-"

"No," Aeragis interjected, voice slightly hoarse from lack of use. "I was riding on a cart with a couple of other men, when some Imperial soldiers confronted me and accused me of smuggling . The cart I was on.. Was filled with weapons. I really just came here to see my father.” Aeragis hung his head, biting back a gasp as the restraints on his wrists jerked. None of this made any sense.. Was it a sign that he had made a mistake.. That he should not have left Wavecloak?

The blonde man nodded, eyebrows shifting downwards in a frown. "And they knocked you out good. Me and the man next to you are here for a different reason, though." He gestured with a shoulder to the man next to Aeragis. Aeragis stole a peek at the man, to see that his mouth was covered with a grimy cloth. His eyes were cast off into the distance, and were filled with many different shades of anger. This particular individual did not look like a thief, but wore fine leather and furs. “We were captured in an Imperial ambush at the border to the south. This thief here, as well."

The man next to the blonde snorted, shoulders going rigid in anger. "Damn you, Stormcloaks," he hissed. Though he hadn't looked at the Nord next to him, or the man with the cloth over his mouth, it was obvious it was them whom he was addressing. "Skyrim was thriving until you Divines-forsaken people came along.. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse! I could be in Hammerfell by now!" His voice rose slightly, but a warning grunt from the Imperial guiding the horse hushed him immediately. In a lower voice the brunette man said, looking to Aeragis, "You’re obviously not a Stormcloak, and neither am I. " he growled.

Aeragis furrowed his eyebrows. He knew of the Empire, and of Imperials, but he was clueless as to why this man hated Stormcloaks. “What would it matter if I was Stormcloak or not?”

The brunette exhaled sharply through his nose. “Ask the Nord, here.”

"We are each bound to the same fate now, thief," the Nord responded. Though his posture and words gave nothing away, there was some sort of urgent warning lingering behind his eyes. “Now I suggest we stop–“

Sure enough, the Imperial soldier in front of the four men, who by now had probably picked up the tension in the cart, turned his head and snarled into Aeragis' face, "Shut up back there, lest you all want gags over your mouths!"

Aeragis recoiled as if the man were to kill him on spot, but no one laughed. He probably would if he had the permission. Oh, gods.. Maybe leaving home was a bad idea..

After about a minute or two of tense silence, the horse-thief turned his attention to the man with the clothed-mouth. The figure did not return the stare, but kept squinting off into nowhere.

"What's wrong with him, huh?"

The first man who had spoken turned his head to the horse thief, and glared irritably to the side of his head. "Watch your tongue, man! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak.. The true High King!”

The second man suddenly froze. For a moment, he stared, back rigid, at the man who was apparently Ulfric, and terror began to flood into his eyes.

“Ulfric.. Stormcloak? Oh, Divines, if he’s here, that means we’re going to–“

“Inform General Tullius that all of the rebels at the border have been captured! Open the gates!” shouted a nearby guard.

Aeragis turned his head to the north and was surprised to see a high, stone wall accompanied by wooden gates standing before them. A guard who was standing above the gates waved a signal to se unseen people, and within second the wooden structures creaked open.

“Gods, I was right! This is Helgen! Kynareth.. Dibella.. Akatosh.. Talos.. Shor.. Divines, save us!” The brunet clawed at his skull in distress. “We’re all doomed for the chopping block!”

Aeragis’ blood ran cold. “You’re not serious?” He looked to the Nord, and much to Aeragis’ distress, he nodded.

“I’m sorry, friend. There’s nothing we can do.”

“But I only came here to look for my father, and..” Aeragis trailed off, at a loss for words. For once in his life, he missed the dull isle of Wavecloak. He missed his stern mother. He even missed Ferran and Gravis. Having their boisterous company would be better than losing his head in a city he hadn’t even known about until today.

As they entered Helgen, Aeragis noticed several children milling around their houses to watch the prisoners.

“Who are they?” he heard one little boy ask.

“Come on, son, they’re criminals. Dangerous. Let’s go inside,” urged a mother sternly, whisking the little blonde back into his house.

Criminal.. I didn’t even do anything.

“Oh gods, oh gods..” the thief continued to groan as they progressed. Aeragis contemplated calming him down, but perhaps there was nothing to do but appeal to the gods.

Finally, the troop of carts came to a gradual halt, and soldiers began filing the prisoners out, one by one. When Aeragis’ cart began to unload, the dark-haired Stormcloak lost all wit.

“I don’t want to die under under the axe of the Imperials.. I won’t!” And with that, he took off sprinting unevenly down the road.

A woman dressed in heavy-polished armour did little but raise her hand, and an archer nocked an arrow. He aimed, fired, and within a span of three seconds the Stormcloak dropped heavily to the ground, and arrow lodged in his head.

None of the prisoners even had time to think before the Imperials began ushering them forward again. It was as if death meant nothing to them anymore.

The armoured woman turned to the Nord next to her and hissed, "Hadvar, keep an eye on these ones, will you?"

“Don’t think much of it, friend." The voice startled Aeragis out of his trance. It was his blonde friend.  “He was going to die anyways.”

Aeragis couldn’t peel his eyes off of the corpse that was now being dragged away. He had never watched a man be so brutally killed, so quickly in his life. He had seen a man drown once, and several die of illness, but never like this.

“Shut your mouths over there! Ralof of the Stormcloaks, step forward.”

Aeragis turned his gaze upon the Nord. He looked back at Aeragis and gave him one last nod, before stepping forward to hear his sentence.

“This man is guilty of treason against the Empire, by supporting Ulfric Stormcloak and killing on his behalf.” Hadvar sounded almost tired saying the sentence. Perhaps a lot of rebels had come in on this day, and he’d simply stopped caring.

The woman next to Hadvar cocked her head in the direction of where the rest of the prisoners were gathered. “Go on, now, scum.”

Ralof went on without objection, but his jaw was visibly clenched.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Ulfric Stormcloak himself,” Hadvar scoffed. “Look at you now.. The proud leader of the Stormcloaks, in chains and gagged.. It’s laughable, almost.”

Ulfric did not look up.

“Take him from my sight, with the others,” the guardswoman ordered. Two lower-ranking guards came to take the Stormcloak leader by the shoulders and thrust him carelessly in the direction of the group of prisoners. Ulfric stumbled and nearly fell over, but somehow managed to keep his footing.

“Hey, you, stop drooling, and come forward.” Aeragis snapped out of his trance, and raised his head. Sucking in a deep breath, he stepped out of the cart. Though befuddled and crestfallen, Aeragis was no coward. He looked Hadvar straight in the eye, but was surprised to see the man squinting at him strangely.

“This one.. He isn’t on the list. What’s your name?” the warrior inquired, ignoring the look the woman next to him gave off.

“Aeragis,” came the low reply.

“Where do you come from?”

“An island in the eastern sea called Vinkkappen.” The name felt dry on Aeragis’ tongue. Hadvar blinked twice, and beckoned to the guard that had been driving Aeragis’ cart.

“What is this man being brought here for? I don’t have his name down anywhere, and certainly not anyone from Wavecloak.”

The guard straightened himself up. “This man was found travelling across the border from Morrowind with a large amount of weapons in his cart. We suspect that he also may be part of the rebellion, because he was very close to where we found Ulfric and his host.”

Aeragis’ eyes stretched wide. The rebellion? They think I’m part of the rebellion?

The guardswoman had heard quite enough from Hadvar by this time.  “We are wasting our time. How could we trust a man who has no one to back him up, and came from a place we know almost nothing about? Send him off.”

Hadvar sighed. “I suppose you’re right. I’m sorry, sir. A Nord cannot save fellow Nord when he cannot trust him, as much as he may want to. Go on ahead.”

Unlike the blonde Nord he had rode to Helgen with, Aeragis turned towards the grouped prisoners and reluctantly picked his way along, as if he were blind. This was all so ridiculous.. All he had wanted to do was see his father, and leave his home for a better place. Apparently there were no better places.  

“Move it!” Aeragis felt a hand grab the fabric of the back of his ragged shirt and thrust him in the direction of the chopping block.

When he regained his footing, he noticed a priestess at the head of the prisoners, standing close to a hooded executioner. A couple of guards stood in all directions of the prisoners.

“Death to the Stormcloaks!” a woman shouted.

“Hang their heads from the walls of the city!” a man added.

None of the Imperials seemed to mind the insults being thrown at the prisoners, but the lady general grew ever impatient.

“Get on with it!” she shouted over to the guards closest to the chopping block. “We haven’t got all day.”

Finally, a lone, brunet man was picked from the crowd and kicked down to his knees. He was then forced down onto the block.

Aeragis ground his jaws together. The executioner lifted his rusty axe into the air, but Aeragis did not look away. No, he had to be reminded of what a horrible world he had set off into.. What a mistake he had made leaving home. The axe came down with a blunt sort of noise, and the man’s head rolled onto the ground before him, lifeless eyes staring off into the sky.

“Talos rest his soul,” someone in the crowd murmured.

Aeragis looked around to see who they had picked out next. His blood ran cold.

“You over there, foreigner! You’re next!”

Aeragis barely had time to breathe before he was once again being pushed forward. As he neared the now bloody stone block, he felt as if his innards had collapsed inside of him. This was all his own fault. He should have been happy on Wavecloak, with his brothers and mother and cousins. He should have been happy cleaning the floors of his house, and having a family, and having a home, but his own selfish desires had led him to his own death. His mother had been right.. The world and its alleged freedom were all lies, and always had been lies. His father was probably dead, anyways.

Just as he got down on his knees, a very strange noise echoed across the skies. It sounded kind of like a bear, but bears didn’t fly. Perhaps it was some sort of strange, Skyrim-born bird.

“What was that?” one of the nearby guards asked, casting his gaze upward.

“I didn’t hear anything. Shut your mouths, and do what you’re supposed to!”

The guard shared a look with the man standing next to him, but they quickly returned their attention to Aeragis. The executioner rolled his shoulders, resulting in a small crack. When he picked his axe back up, Aeragis looked down at the stone beneath him. This was it.. This was the end of his life.

Once again, however, the strange noise could be heard.

“There it is again!”

“I heard it too..”

This time, Aeragis could hear feet shuffling around him, and quiet murmurs rippling throughout the prisoners. Nonetheless, the executioner raised his blade. Aeragis prayed silently to the gods that somehow his pitiful soul would end up in Sovngarde, and sucked in what he knew would be his last breath.

Just as the executioner’s axe drifted above his head, and he thought his heart couldn’t beat any faster, the most thunderous, terrifying roar Aeragis had ever had the displeasure of hearing ripped through all of Helgen, and before the executioner could move another muscle, a blinding column of flames rushed above Aeragis’ head.

No one even had time to say the word, but everyone knew what it was.

Dragon.

“To arms, soldiers!”

Surely enough, when Aeragis looked up, a horrible beast clutched onto the top of the tower, knife-like teeth bared. It was two times the size of a mammoth, had a wingspan almost double its own length, and its entire body was covered in dark, jutting scales. Horns rose out of its head, and its tiny, bright eyes burned with fiery energy. The Nord found himself struck by the dragon’s gaze briefly, but forced himself to avert his focus.

Aeragis did not hesitate another moment. He scrambled to his feet and began running off to the left, but he fell short.

The dragon had been engaged with a group of guards, when it had shouted out some crude phrase it its own tongue. With the strength of a powerful wind, Aeragis was swept off of his feet and thrown into a pile of barrels. His head was ringing after the impact, causing his vision to blur. Suddenly, he felt a hand take hold of his left forearm, and pull him up out of the barrels. It was Ralof.

“Come with me. We need to get out of the dragon’s sights.”

Aeragis shook his head and blinked a couple times to clear his vision up, and nodded. “Alright.”

Ralof jerked his head in the direction of a stone tower across from where they were standing, about ten meters away. “We need to get over there. Keep your head low, but don’t slow down. Let’s go.” With that, the Stormcloak took off in the direction he had instructed, Aeragis following closely behind. He dared not look up again, for fear he looked into the dragon’s eyes once more.

Around battling soldiers and jets of flames Aeragis and Ralof weaved, each nearly being burnt to a crisp at least once, until they came to a crumbling, stone tower in the shape of a cylinder.

Once they entered the building, Aeragis knelt down against a wall for a moment. He felt a warm sensation on his forehead, and when he touched his hand to it, he winced. Blood covered his fingers when he lowered his hand. Looking down, he noticed that there were several minor burns lining his arms and torso, and the occasional scrape on his legs. He sighed in relief. Nothing too serious.

Surely enough, when he looked around, Aeragis saw several men and woman tending to their own wounds. One woman in particular, however, could not look after her own wounds, but instead had a young man doing so for her. She was curled up on the floor, clutching her maimed torso. Her face was contorted in an agonized grimace.

Aeragis stood and made his way over to the woman while Ralof spoke with someone, crouching down next to her jittering body.

“What happened?” he inquired, eyebrows furrowing.

The woman hissed weakly as the man tending to her pressed a linen cloth to her side. Nonetheless, she looked up at Aeragis. Her eyes burned not only with pain, but with some form of long-embedded anger.

“The dragons have returned,” she rasped, fingers curling. “and they are back to enslave us all.”

Aeragis stared down at her, eyes narrowing in cognition. His father had told him as a child that the dragons were all dead, because the ancient Nord warriors had killed them off in a fierce battle long ago. Now, here one was, slaughtering tens of people in mere minutes. Aeragis opened his mouth to ask another question, but a hand grabbed his shoulder before he could speak.

“Alright, up these stairs,” Ralof urged, waving his hand towards the spiral staircase to their right. “I have a plan.” The Stormcloak whirled around and began to dash up the stairs.

Aeragis took another look down at the woman, and at the other people gathered. It didn’t look like they were going anywhere. He froze mid-step, and sighed angrily.

“I don’t just want to leave you all here to die,” Aeragis growled, fingers bunching into fists. “You can come with me, and we can escape–“

“Are you mad? Get out of here!” the man tending the woman snapped. “Don’t die for those who are doomed.. Go with Ralof.”

Aeragis hesitated for a moment, about to object, but saw that the man was right. There was no way that they could stand up to the dragon. He’d had so many more questions he had wanted to ask the wounded woman, and certainly did not want her or any of her companions to die, but finally decided that he was being a fool. What could I do, anyways? I’m just a stupid farm boy.

Swallowing his regret, Aeragis charged up the stairs after his blond companion, who was almost at the top of the stairs.

Ralof halted, and turned to Aeragis. “Okay, I'm going to lend you some armour,” he instructed, motioning their movements with his hands. “From there, we will–Get back!”

Without even looking, Aeragis leaped backwards behind the wall. Surely enough, the dragon blew a hole right through the wall and let loose a burst of flames, scorching the opposite side of the building. Aeragis covered his face with his arms, plumes of heat ripping painfully across his skin.

Thankfully, however, the dragon moved on quickly. Ralof turned to Aeragis.  

“I can’t go out this way, because I have to direct some of my companions. You'll have to jump down into that house below. I’ll meet you west of the house directly below, alright?”

Aeragis blinked several times, startled by the prospect of jumping, but nodded.

“Are you ready? The dragon will make fast work of the guards it’s distracted by.”

Aeragis rose from his hiding spot and stood before the gap. The man had never been afraid of heights, but the twisted, jutting wood of the burning house he was to jump into was a little daunting. Swallowing his nervousness but not peeling his eyes from his destination, Aeragis nodded. “I’m ready.”

There was a brief pause, and Aeragis had thought perhaps that the dragon was coming back, but Ralof’s response nearly startled Aeragis into losing his footing.

“Jump!”

Aeragis bent over and then sprang forward through the ash-filled air, aiming to go through the hole in the roof. Thankfully, his luck held out, for once, even with his hands bound. Not stopping to catch his breath, Aeragis stepped over burning wood and trashed drawers, coming to the ruined doorway of the house. Peering out, he saw that the dragon was flying overhead, preoccupied with a group of Imperial archers.

Aeragis gathered his courage and burst out of the doorway, head snapping back and forth for sights of Ralof. He was nowhere to be seen.

Oh, gods, where is he? He said he’d meet me down here! The Nord ducked behind a large stone block as the dragon unleashed another bout of flames into the air.

“You over there!” a voice called out. Aeragis raised his head a little to spot an Imperial man–Hadvar, in fact–waving to him. “Come over here, and hurry!”

Aeragis made another nerve-racking dash across the open, narrowly avoiding a misguided arrow, and skidded to a dusty halt in front of Hadvar.

“Did you see Ralof pass by here?” Aeragis inquired breathily.

The Imperial soldier scoffed. “He probably ran off with Ulfric and the rest of the Stormcloaks. You can’t count on them to have you back, stranger.” Another booming noise rippled across Helgen, and Hadvar put aside his irritation. “We have to move. That dragon likely won’t stop until he’s killed every man in this town. Follow me, and keep your head and voice down.” With that, he turned, making for a battered tower next to a large, wooden house.

Aeragis followed close behind, though a pain in his ankle that he hadn’t before noticed was making it hard to tread lightly. He could feel beads of sweat and blood trailing down his neck and back. It was as if his injuries and nerves were against him, and and the worst of times.

Just as the two approached the open once more, a burst of wind battered against them, and sure enough, it had been the wingbeats of the dragon. Aeragis had barely enough time to push himself up against the brick wall, let alone run, as the dragon landed on the stone directly above him. Aeragis covered his mouth with his hands, as if to quiet his rugged breathing. Thanks the gods, however, the dragon did not spot them–Aeragis and Hadvar, anyways. The dragon opened its cavernous maw and unleashed a spout of deadly flames, which reached out and devoured a group of three Imperial soldiers.

It was a strange thing, to watch a man’s flesh be burned right off of his body, and to watch him become nothing more than a shrivelled mess of charred armour and crackling ashes. The bodies–if they could even be categorized as such anymore–dropped limply down the the ground, not even making a noise as they did so.

As horrific and stomach-churning as Aeragis found the incident to be, he continued to hold his breath until the dragon decided that he was moving on, and lifted off, flying upwards and to the east. Hadvar and he wasted no time in making their way north, towards what looked like the guard barracks.

“Alright, we can go through here. This leads down underground, and eventually out of Helgen.” Hadvar reached for the handle and pulled the wooden door open. When inside, Aeragis was met with a large, stone room with about six beds, a couple of chests and silk banners bearing the sigil of the Empire.

It was then that Aeragis realized that his wrists were still bound. He looked to Hadvar.

“It might help if you cut these bonds,” Aeragis stated, holding his wrists out. “I’m not sure I’ll be any help without the use of my hands.”

Hadvar nodded, slipping a dagger out of a sheath. It cut through the rope with minimal effort. Aeragis sighed in relief, rubbing each of his wrists several times in attempt to ease the raw skin.

Hadvar took a look around, and then gestured towards the wooden chests. “Take anything out of those that you think might be useful. We might have trouble on the way down.”

“Best to be prepared, I guess,” Aeragis agreed grimly, approaching the chests and swinging the tops open. He creased his brow at the sight of such few useful items, but did manage to find a rusty mace lying underneath some cloths. Aeragis rose to his feet and gave the mace an experimental swing. Though it was not very heavy, he did not like the feel of it, or the thought of what it did. No, Aeragis preferred to end a man’s life quickly, with a sharp edge. Preference was not an option, however, so he made his way back to Hadvar.

The Imperial opened the gate before them and made his way through another dim room, until they came to another gate. Voices sounded from within the next room.

“It’s Stormcloaks,” Hadvar muttered, carefully undoing the lock on the gate. “Take them quickly.”

Aeragis did not even have time to tell Hadvar that he’d never been in combat in his life before he was being shoved through the doorway and right into battle. Luckily, Hadvar and Aeragis had heard the Stormcloaks first, so the kills were quick. One sloppy thrust of the mace to one man’s spine took him out with a disgusting crack. Hadvar plunged his blade into the other man’s chest before he could draw his weapon, discarded the body, and headed straight for the next door, on the opposite side of the room.

Aeragis stared down at the man he had killed for a moment, not able to coherently describe what he was feeling. Guilt, for killing someone? Pride, for winning his first fight? If anything, he felt adrenaline pumping through his veins, which was a sensation he had not felt since he’d almost drown when he was eleven.

“Don’t think much of it,” Hadvar murmured, unlocking the door before him. “He would have killed you if we had not been so quick. Let’s go.”

Aeragis peeled his eyes away from the dead men, and continued following Hadvar. Was that what war was like.. Killing man after man, so you wouldn’t be killed? Perhaps this was why his great-grandfather had told his son to move out of Tamriel.. So he would not have to raise children in a broken, war-torn land. Skyrim seemed to be right in the middle of a war, as Aeragis now knew, and he had woken up right in the centre of the conflict.

As the two descended a flight of stairs, they heard more voices coming from below.

“Come on, those damn Imperials won’t be needing these anymore,” a gruff voice said, accompanied by the sound of coins being shifted around.

“We have to go right now!” a second voice snapped. “”You know, “those damn Imperials” will be coming down the stairs any moment now, since there’s nowhere else to get out of the city! Come on!”

The first Stormcloak man, who was shoving gold and bread into his bag, growled, and turned to follow the second. Aeragis frowned and glanced at Hadvar. The Imperial nodded.

Together, Hadvar and Aeragis charged into the storage room and lunged at the Stormcloaks, sword and mace drawn. The greedy Stormcloak turned to Aeragis and snarled, unsheathing his axe and aiming for Aeragis’s neck. Luckily, Aeragis ducked at just the right moment. He then jumped back up and rammed his free arm into the Stormcloak’s chest, pushing him against the wall and forcing his sword arm downwards. The Stormcloak kicked at Aeragis’s leg in protest to his actions, which was incredibly painful, but it was too late. Aeragis raised his mace and struck downwards on the man’s head, hearing a blunt clang as the metal collided with the Stormcloak’s helmet. The man toppled to the ground in a heap, and lay still. Aeragis wasn’t sure if the man was even dead or not, but he did not wish to check.

Hadvar had again quickly dispatched of his opponent, and was glancing cautiously out the doorway. “I saw some light armour on the table next to the barrels to your left. It might be a good idea to pick it up, since I can see you’re not very accustomed to fighting..” The Imperial glanced down at the Stormcloak against the wall. “.. Just don’t take too long, though, because where there’s some Stormcloaks, there’s always more.”

Aeragis exhaled, the exhilaration of battle not yet worn off, and came to the table to survey the armour. It was lightweight, as Hadvar had said, mostly made with leather and a few plates of metal fastened onto the chest piece. A flat, iron helmet lay next to it as well. Aeragis first put the helmet on, relieved that it fit, and then began strapping the armour on. Luckily, it was not as difficult as he had anticipated. When Aeragis was finished, he began following Hadvar once again.

Down they went, further into the keep. They had to be wary of collapsing ceilings, because it was entirely possible, with a dragon taking stone towers down above. The next room they encountered was the torturer’s chamber. Several dead Stormcloaks were already lying on the ground, and a gaunt figure stood above them, sharpening a long, silver dagger. He turned his hooded  to Aeragis and Hadvar, snorting dryly.

After the torturer's refusal to joint them in their escape, they picked up a few resources, and decided to leave. As Aeragis began walking away, however, he spotted an old, tattered book on a table, titled "The Book of the Dragonborn". Aeragis had always loved reading, and especially loved reading about dragons. He wasn't quite sure what "Dragonborn" was, though. He decided to take it.

When the two reached a large, cave-like room, they ran into a small rabble of Stormcloaks. This time, however, the Stormcloaks saw Aeragis and Hadvar coming.

Aeragis swallowed away his nervousness, and leaped into the fray, mace raised. The first man he ran into was small of stature, but nimble. Aeragis attempted to hit him straight-on, but he leapt out of the way and swung his sword at Aeragis’ back. It it had not been for the armour, the blade would have done greater damage, but it did manage to slice through the leather, and leave a shallow gash. Aeragis hissed in pain, but whirled around and managed to clobber the Stormcloak over the head with the mace, rendering him dead in seconds. Without a minute to spare, another man came at Aeragis, but instead of a short sword bore a longsword. He charged wildly forward, but Aeragis was ready. He knocked the sword out of the man’s hand with a single swipe of his mace, and proceeded to do the same to him as he’d done to the first.

“Hold it right there!”

Aeragis froze as he leaned to pick up the longsword, and felt something sharp nudge the back of his head.

“I’ve got you right at the tip of my arrow, filthy Imperial, so don’t make a move,” a Stormcloak man growled. “You aren’t going an-”

A thud sounded from behind Aeragis, and the Stormcloak stopped mid-sentence, followed by a choking noise. when Aeragis turned, he saw the man dead on the floor, an arrow sticking out of his neck. Looking to his right, he saw Hadvar strapping his bow to his back.

“Good shot,” Aeragis called, grimacing as the cut in his back throbbed while he bent over and took up the longsword. He raised it into the air to get a better look at it. It wasn’t new, that was for sure, but it was sturdy, and it felt much more natural to Aeragis than a mace. He slipped it in the sheath that had been strapped to one of the dead Stormcloaks’s belts, and fastened it to his own. Hadvar caught up to him.

“The bastard didn’t see it coming, but neither did you. Better be extra careful from now on.”

Aeragis grunted in agreement.

As they went on, they did not run into any more Stormcloaks, but they did nearly get crushed by some falling rocks. Thankfully, both of their actions that day had been exceptionally quick, which had saved their lives yet again.

“No going back that way anymore,” Hadvar observed as the rocks settled, and turned back to the little river that was running through the cave. “Well, we’d best follow that river, now.”

Down a couple of passageways they went, until they came to a large room full of jagged rocks. In the corner of the room slept a large, brown bear.

“We don’t want to wake that up,” Hadvar whispered to Aeragis, whilst tip-toeing behind a large, cylindrical rock formation. Aeragis nodded, watching the creature’s belly heave up and down as he crept by it. It was best not to try his luck with a hungry beast at the moment.. Then again, it was never a good time to do such a thing.

When the bear was out of sight, they came to the cave’s exit. Aeragis could feel the chilly air gusting in from outside. Just as they exited the cave, however, Hadvar pulled him aside, behind a rock.

“Hold on!” Aeragis blinked in confusion, but when he looked up, he saw the dark, scaly body of the dragon soaring overhead, in the direction of a mountain farther north. When it disappeared into the clouds, the two men stood.

“Do you think it’s gone for good?” Aeragis inquired, squinting in the direction the creature had flown. Hadvar shrugged, trotting on ahead. “Hopefully. It looks like it went to Bleak Falls Barrow, up that mountain. My home town is pretty close to there, so I pray that it takes its wrath elsewhere.”

Aeragis exhaled as he followed, a sense of relief flooding over him. Even though they were not exactly safe, they were not in any immediate danger. The Nord could finally relax his muscles a bit.. Or so he though.

“We have to get a move on. The town that I talked about, Riverwood, is not far from here. When we get there, I have to speak to my uncle, Alvor, about Helgen,” Hadvar instructed, beginning to jog. Aeragis ground his teeth together, but did not object.

As they ran, Aeragis began to notice what kind of a land Skyrim really was. Forests grew out to the feet of the snow-capped mountains, and then there was long, stretching plains. The mountains in particular were of special interests to Aeragis, however, because they were the biggest he had seen in his entire life. His father had told stories of the majesty of Skyrim’s mountains, and he had not been a word short.

Hadvar told Aeragis a little about what was going on in Skyrim. As it turned out, Ulfric Stormcloak, the man who’d been gagged back in Helgen, had killed the High King of Skyrim for his cause: to liberate the land from the Empire. Aeragis felt a sudden anger upon knowing this. Ralof, the first man he had really known in Skyrim, was a Stormcloak.. He probably had assisted Ulfric in the murder of the King. Aeragis had initially thought of Ralof as a decent man, but by the sound of it, he wasn’t.

After another little while, Hadvar pointed out a place to stop. When Aeragis caught sight of it, he observed that there were three large, sharp stones standing on a rocky platform. Curiosity drove him to jog a little faster.

When Aeragis arrived, he took a moment to catch his breath, and then gazed upon the structured. The middle structure bore a carving of a man in long robes, holding a long staff. It read “mage”. The stone to the left bore a hooded man, armed with a dagger, and read “theif”. The third stone, on Aeragis’ right, depicted a man with a sword and horned helmet, reading “warrior”.

“Ah, yes, the Ritual Stones,” Hadvar murmured, putting his hands on his hips. “I remember discovering these when I was a boy, though I don’t remember which one I took.”

“Took?” Aeragis turned to him. “What do you mean by that?”

“You can choose one to represent yourself. My grandmother told me that when you touch one of the three, you gain skills related to it. You can choose one, if you’d like.”

Aeragis turned back to the stones. Though they all seemed intriguing, he found himself gravitating towards the warrior stone. Gently he touched his hand to the surface of the stone, and the hole in the centre lit up with a strange, ethereal light. Following this, Aeragis felt a surge of energy run through his veins, invigorating his tired muscles.

“A warrior.. Good. Skyrim needs all the warriors it can get,” Hadvar said, continuing down the dirt pathway. “These are tough times, in case you haven’t already noticed.”

“Yeah,” Aeragis commented back, attention drawing to the stinging cut on his back. “Maybe it wasn’t a good time for me to travel here.”

“Who knows,” Hadvar grinned. “Maybe you’ll play a role in this mess.”

Finally, after escaping dragon fire, swords and collapsing towers, they were in sight of their temporary salvation, Riverwood.