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The Elder Scrolls Skyrim - Episode 1 FATE Edit

And the scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold, That when brothers wage war come unfurled! Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, with a hunger to swallow the world!—Song of the Dragonborn

His eyes slowly opened, sitting on a hard wooden pale chair with the rest of the prisoners. The sounds of horses trotting along with their hooves clanking on top of the rocky old stones. The smell of horse waste and the juicy smell of the trees breathing embraced Skyrim. The cold breeze swooped passed him calmly, it sang and screeched like violins as it danced its way through the huge snowy trees and brushing its way down the gigantic mountains. Everything is pure white, and calm, but the man isn’t, he is confused, he had his hands tied together with a filthy old rope. He quickly looked to his left realizing there are more carriages than the one he is in. The rider on the coach looked like an Imperial, the obvious look, their dark brown leather armor and their forceful body language made it blatant. The scenery rested in the grey ancient sky of wisdom, a Nord’s true home.

To his left are two men, one is on the other side of the carriage and the other right next to the confused man. The one towards the man was a strong well built Nord, a Stormcloak, his cheeks look as hard as steel, the jaw was as strong as a warriors arms. The mixed race man to his left looked filthy, skinny and extremely paranoid. His head faced straight down as his black shaking hair weighs him down. He wore the cloths of a thief. But there was one man that stood out amongst all the others, another Nord on the other side of the carriage as the lost man. He looked broken; broses filled his face, his blond long greasy hair spread all over the place. He wasn’t like the other prisoners, they had his mouth tied with a grayish gag. He wore a big black furry coat; it looked like a crow closing its wings.

Seconds that seemed like hours had passed, and suddenly the strong Nord towards the loosed man spoke to him, "Hey You, your finally awake." He said enthusiastically. "You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." Right now the loosed man was sure the skinny man was a thief. But he would not let a Nord speak to him like that, and answered right back in his face aggressively, "DAMN YOU STORMCLOAKS. SKYRIM WAS FINE UNTIL YOU CAME ALONG. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you, I could’ve stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell. You there. You and me-we should’nt be here. Its these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

The well built Nord looks at the thief straight in the eye and speaks a few words with his honor heald tight in his heart, "We are all brothers and sisters in binds now thief."

The Emprial guard shouts out with pure laziness, "Shut up back there!" The thief looks at the black coated man sitting towards him with complete suspicion, "What’s wrong with him, huh?"


"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion. If they captured you...oh gods, where are they taking us?" The thief starts to shake in pure agony and fear as he tries to release himself from the rope digging into his wrists.

The Nords head fixed on the outside of the carriage, "I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits."

"NO, this can’t be happening. This isn’t happening." He panicked.

"Hey, what village are you from horse thief?"

"Why do you care?" He said bitter fully.

"A Nord’s last thoughts, should be of home." He said calmly.

"Rorikstead. I’m...I’m from Rorikstead." Nearby is a guard by the gates, he calls the rider on the carriage, "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" A powerful voice echoes through the city, Tullius. "Good. Let’s get this over with." In a desperate call for help, the thief starts praying loud and hard, "Shora, Mara, Dibelia, Kynareth, Akatosh. Devines, please help me!"

They enter the gates to their death. As they enter the old gates, the Nord notices Tallius.

"Look at him. General Tallius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this." The powerful horses in the Imperial location stare at the visitors. The gigantic mountains and trees cover the town, the gray tint in the airier faded away as glimpses of light stretched through the clouds. The Imperial Towers reached above the sky reaching to the Gods. Small houses made out of wood and hay stuck the walls of the Imperial location, the road was open for the execution. The Nord once again, speaks his mind, "This is Helegen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here, wonder if vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." He stared up at the sky, gazing at the Imperial Towers. "Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and Towers used to make me feel so safe."

The carriage stopped by the Watch Tower in the middle of town where a group of Imperials stood waiting to lead them to their fate. In the very centre was the execution point, horrific in its design, small, but deadly. And there was the executioner, standing right next to the axe. The thief whispered fearfully, "Why are we stopping?" The Nord answered back, "Why do you think? End of the line." The carriage stopped right at the wall facing its back at the Imperials. The thief was paralyzed and the Jarl of Ulfric was dead silent, he was not even looking at the guards that would open up the carriage for them. "Let’s go. Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us."

"NO! Please wait, we are not rebels!"

"Face you’re death with some courage thief."

"You’ve got to tell them! We’ve worked with you! This is a mistake!" His begging and lust to live was not enough for the Imperial’s. The Jarl stepped out first, then the Thief as clumsy as possible as he begged for his life, after him it was Nord then the mysterious man. One of the Imperial soldiers raised their voice demandingly, "Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time." The Jarl gets called out first, with pride, he walks to his death with his head healed high. The Nord with great respect tells his last words to the Jarl, "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." They call the name of the Nord, "Ralof of Riverwood." He to walks to his end with self respect and pride. "Lokir of Rorikstead." The thief in one last desperate panic screams at the Imperial guard,

"NO! IM NOT A REBEL! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!"He runs as fast as he can, to try and escape! "You’re not going to kill me!" The Imperial guard yells out, "Archers!" A thousand arrows hit him endlessly to the ground. The Imperial Hadvar gets his list of prisoners, "Wait, you there. Step forward." The mysterious man walks towards Hadvar. "Who are you?" '

A deep strong, wise voice leaps out of the mysterious man, "I am Yngvarr." Unfortunetly, looks can be deceiving, Yngvarr is not you’re obvious hero, he is incredibly skiny, tall, but loosing hair, youth had never served him well. He is in his mid 30’s, but the one thing that does stand Yngvarr out to the rest is his eyes, they are wise and strong. His skin color is white, but his travels across the world have made his skin brownish. Hadvar looks at Yngvarr suspiciously, "You from Daggerfall Breton?" Yngvarr answers back with a simple, "Nope."

"Captain, what should we do? He’s not on the list."

The Captain stares at Yngvarr right in the eyes and says in a terrible joy, "Forget the list, he goes to the block."

Yngvarr answers back in agonizing rage, "WHAT!?"

Hardvar sincerely looks at Yngvarr, "I’m sorry, will make sure you’re remains are returned to high rock. Follow the Captain Prisoner."

"Not High rock, really."

Yngvaar slowly walks to the block angry and fearfull, he thinks of his life, what he has accomplished, and hopes there is life in death. The executioner was huge, a mountain of meat, with black leather cloths, his mask made Yngvarr cringe, and his huge axe was bigger than the killer himself, it was extremely sharp and thin, it made Yngvarr shriek. Another Nord that wore the same cloths as Ralof was the first to die, an unfortunate soul. Walking out the line, the Nord walked to the 'gyiootine' with courage, he faced death straight in the eye, ignoring its nightmares and bloody theories. Yngvarr was inspired by his honour and power, he wishes he was like him, but now it is too late. The Nord rests his head on the 'gyiootine' ', waiting for his soul to go to the beyond. The executioner lifted his axe, it’s incredibly sharp form made it gleam in the tiny glimpse of light hiding behind the clouds. And with one blow, blood squirt everywhere! Children from their houses and Mothers from across the town started screaming in horror! 'The 'gyiootine' was flooded with blood, Yngvarr almost vomited in pure trepidation. "Next! The Breton! Yeah you!" The Imperial General said viciously. Yngvarr froze on the spot, Hadvar knew he had to do something, "Give him some time General. He needs time to sink this all in." The General yelled at him as loud as possible! "I said, MOVE TO THE GYIOOTINE PRISONER!" Her voice was as loud as a lion. But from the distance was a loud noise, a huge raw echoed from a far, Hadvar questioned the mysterious noise, "What in god’s name was that?"

"I said next prisoner!"

"Oh um...right, uh go on prisoner."

And so Yngvarr went to his death, confused of the noised but could not do anything, at least it woke him up from pure fear. He put his head on the filthy gyiootine,' 'his head sideways, he could see the skies, when he was a child, his first wish on the earliest birthday he could remember he wanted to die looking up at the stars, gazing at its beauty. But there are no stars, the pale faceless clouds cover them from him. Suddenly, the clouds started spinning, faster and faster, a red tint that looked like blood was spinning with it, the skies had turned into poison, a nightmare. Large bolts of lightning struck from the clouds and hurricanes became more aggressive than ever, the sounds of fire and rage embraced the sky! It was as if the wrath of the Gods were screaming and crying in fury! Yet the executioner was still willing in killing Yngvarr, but at a blink of an eye, a gigantic creature slammed its two feet on top of the Watchtower ruthlessly and certainly with no remorse. Its tail was as long and as a snake as it slithered and tightened itself to the Imperial Watchtower. Its skin was sticking out like huge sharp daggers, its face as evil as hell itself. The insidious abomination rowed, fire sprang from its mouth, and its voice screeched and groaned! The Executioner’s body exploded in a tune of fire and pain! Imperial Towers & Walls collapsed and crumbled to the ground with a huge impact onto the ground. Fog clouded the eerier, fire surrounded Yngvarr from every direction! Hundreds of innocent souls were burned and condemned all around Yngvarr, he could not even move! Death was everywhere! Everywhere he looked! The Dragon looked at him, slowly and insidiously, it shouted a force field right through him, punching him back to the broken concrete! A voice called to him, a familiar voice, it was Ralof! "YOU! BRETON! COME! THIS WAY!" Ygnvarr looked everywhere! Only inferno and ruble blocked his eye sight! When his eyes finally made comprehension of where he was, he saw Ralof and ran faster than light to him not caring about the screaming, not caring about the wrath of Hell that was ripping through the Dragons throat as inferno! Yngvarr jumped straight into the second watchtower Ralof was at and slammed the door the second Yngvarr got in.

Yngvarr was relieved beyond belief, he noticed Jarl Ulfric was there as well, Ralof asked Ulfric desperetly, "Is this Dragon from the legends? Could the legends be true?"

Ulfric answers back with all honesty, "Legends don’t burn down villages."

To be Continued