#skirim

No this is not Skyrim, this is Czech Prachov Rocks

Felt like writing today and came up with my own free novelization of The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. No, I don’t own copyrights to any TES material and no, I don’t intend to make profit out of my work, which is only a fan’s own version of the story. Let me know what you think.

This is a compilation of accounts from the events that began on the year 201 of the Fourth Era, when the Last Dragonborn rose to prominence as the Great Hero that saved the people of Tamriel from several menaces. This collection includes passages from local records, the Dragonborn’s own journals and accounts from people close to the Hero; some were friends with the Dohvakiin, some were foes and some others just met our Grand Saviour on occasions. May those who recovered and facilitated such texts have glory in the afterlife. What transpired was all foretold by the Elder Scrolls, though details differ in time and shape, as mutability is the greatest mistery amongst the many held by the Aedric Prophecies. Therefore, the reader must keep an open mind, for many worlds may occur and woes fall upon them. May the 10 Divines light our way and guard our souls in our pass through Aetherius when our time comes.

-Mikelios Kobruplos. Libarian, College of Winterhold, 5E 32.

CHAPTER 1: Unbound.

Extract from the journals of Tullius, Military Governor and General of the Imperial Legion branch of Skyrim.

4E, 15th of Last Seed.

The spies have confirmed it: Ulfric is marching towards Falkreath hold with a small contingent. It appears the false information we planted worked its way to Windhelm. Now we just have to spring the trap.

16th of Last Seed.

We got him. We finally got the traitorous bastard. After hours of expectation, we finally saw Ulfric’s contingent marching by Darkwater Crossing. Sentries gave the signal and a batallion of Imperial Battlemages who were concealed my the mystic arts traced a ring of fire around the rebels while hidden archers dispatched the ones trying to charge through. It didn’t come that easily, though. When we thought they would lower their weapons, Ulfric shouted in the ancient tongue and an icy wind blew through the ring, extinguishing flames and freezing the soil. I had never witnessed the use of the Thu'um before. Two of my men died, their breath frozen in their necks. Gods curse the Voice. Had the Greybeards known Ulfric would betray their ways and then all of Skyrim, I’m sure they would have never taught him.

The remaining rebels charged through the opening, arms held up, but soon found themselves under a rain of arrows, fire, ice and lightning. Ulfric signaled halt and the remainder of his force surrendered. I had the men muzzle the Jarl of Windhelm, lest we face his voice once more. I hope that’s enough to silence him, although Gods know I would like to make it for good.

Right after we set out for Helgen a man approached me and reported that we had two more prisioners, the first one was riding towards the border with Cyrodiil and was halted for inspection. The fool tried to escape the Legion and ended up arrested with a charge for theft; the other was apparently trying to illegaly cross the same border into Skyrim. I must not include these details in my report. The last thing I need now is another quarrel with the Thalmor Embassy. Lessons need to be taught. They’re all going to the block.

Extract from the journals of Hadvar, Imperial Legion officer, Skyrim branch.

4E, 18th of Last Seed.

I arrived in Riverwood hours ago. Seems to me like centuries have passed since I last set foot on my hometown. And considering how we went through Oblivion and back, It’s really good to feel welcome, though I’m not sure we’re at all safe.

Where should I begin? We were marching from Darkwater Crossing under General Tullius’ orders. Ulfric Stormcloack and his men were caught after a short but migthy battle ensued near the mining town two days ago. Prisioners were driven by car to Helgen, where the General would pass Imperial judgement on the rebels. We got there with no complications. I was tasked with managing one of the lists of prisioners, the one with Ulfric’s name on it… And Ralof’s. My old friend… How did we come to this? But we both made our choices. There happened to be two extra prisioners in the wagons: a nord named Lokir who claimed to hail from Rorikstead and happened to be a horse thief… He could not face his fate with dignity and tried to escape. Poor man, he neglected Sovngarde. The second, the person sleeping right in front of me, the one who faced the perils under Helgen with boldness and skill, a brave elf -if I ever met one-… Dark elf, in fact. Said his name was Andris. No surname he gave.

General Tullius was addressing the prisioners when we heard it for the first time, a lament, a roaring… None of us could tell what it was and the General dismissed it, calling in the axeman. The executions had already begun and the Captain called for Andris: “Next, the Dark Elf!” she yelled, when a second scream ran through the clouds. Men wondered what it could be, horses neighed, uneasy; moments later there he was, Andris, on his knees, neck over the chop block, ready to receive the axeman’s blow when a sudden gale struck and the ground shook. We heard screaming and General Tullius exclamating: “What in Oblivion is that!”. It was black hide, wings and terror. It was a dragon. And it shouted to the skies, I know that’s what it did, for moments later Oblivion was unleashed upon us. Fiery rocks started pouring over Helgen, the sky looked like a whirlwind of wrath. Ruins. Helgen fell quicly into ruins and we could do nothing but try and resist to the best of our abilities.

By the time I realized the prisioners had freed themselves, they had already taken shelther in one of the towers used by the Imperial garrison in Helgen. I thought they would all die for sure when I saw the dragon break through one of its upper walls and spit fire into it. No one could survive that, I thougnt, but moments later I saw him, it was Andris jumping from the cracked tower into the burning house next to it. Dunmer, yes, with a natural resistance to fire. That explained how he survived the flaming hell the beast had set upon the refuge. And he kept surprising me. Just as soon as I saw him coming out of the burning rubble, the dragon landed in front of us and unleashed its fiery wrath upon a lying local man whose child barely saved himself from the flames. It took off again to the skies, but not away from Helgen, no… I called the prisioner, Andris, to follow me if he wanted to live. We met General Tullius, the Legion’s archers and battlemages trying to repel the demon, but to no avail. No, we had to flee, and the General knew it. I carried on to the keep, for I knew going underground would give us a chance of hiding from the fire and the monumental strenght of the dragon, and Andris followed. That’s where we found Ralof. He somehow put his hands on a war axe and stood there, in front of me, the eyes defiying my conviction. We crossed some words, the last we might ever be able to, and parted ways for good. I went inside the keep and my elf friend followed.

What came next was our escape from Helgen, for Stormcloack soldiers had already entered the keep, armed themselves and raid provisions and reinforcements, and the dragon continued to storm the city and the fort, like trying to bury us alive. I will not wander in details. Suffice to say that through all the hardship, Andris managed to display a set of skills I had not expected to see from an elf that looked so helpless just hours ago. Not just with a sword and a bow, but by commanding the mystic forces, twice I saw him produce fire from the palm of his hands, once to repel an attacking stormcloack and the second to set the oily ground of the underkeep on flames to dispose of two enemy archers. Clad in borrowed imperial armor, he reminded me of the battlemages in the Legion, casting destruction spells at foes and, somehow, I kept thinking about the dragon when I saw those flames springing from his hands.

When we last found the exit, fresh air hit our faces and filled our lungs, though relief was followed by terror, for a giant shadow passed right over us. It was the dragon again, black wings headed in this very direction, towards Riverwood and Bleak Falls Barrow, and beyond, towards Whiterun. If it saw us, he didn’t care anymore, for we were safely ignored. We finally took a resting breath. I told Andris I was heading to Riverwood, where I have family, for I needed to pass the word of ill news from Helgen, rest and prepare to go back to Solitude, see what’s transpired, find out if the General is still alive and render my report. He decided to join me, though he hasn’t been much talk so far. And here we are, at my uncle’s house, getting some rest. We will take supplies and part ways tomorrow morning. Andris has offered himself to take word of the dragon to Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun while I make for Haafingar. Or at least he did not reject Alvor’s petition. In any case, he agreed to stay for the night. Let’s see what the morning brings for us. I really need the sleep.

Extracts from the journal of Faendal, a Bosmer who resided in Riverwood at the time.

4E, 18th of Last Seed.

My life changed today. I feel insecure no more. I can do anything!

It all started this morning, when I left my door to head for work at the sawmill. I heard some commotion from Alvor, the local blacksmith, talking about his nephew. So Hadvar was in town. That was good news by itself. I always liked Hadvar, we used to be friends and ever since he joined the Legion I had only a few chances of seeing him. A sad thing he and Ralof went apart. Ralof was also a good person, if a bit harsh. But, hey, they’re nords. It happened as I walked in front of Alvor’s forge that I saw a person coming out of his door. It wasn’t Hadvar, though he was wearing armor from the Imperial Army. He was Dunmer. His skin a grayish blue, auburn hair and flaming red eyes like gates to Oblivion. An old saying, I guess, for I don’t mean to say all Dunmer are twisted daedra worshippers or anything like that… Turned out to be named Andris. Just Andris. Well, I’m Faendal. Just Faendal. Guess we’re even on that account. Was happy to see a different face, for a change, and not just different. Mer.

I carried on to my duties, although curiosity was biting my back. Then I saw him approach me while I carried some firewood from the sawmill to the pile near Alvor’s store. He greeted me and I replied: “Greetings, brother Elf. Good to see a familiar face so far from home.” Turned out to be a nicely mannered Dunmer. We got along immediatly. I asked if he had met that sack of fungi Sven, the local bard and told him about our dispute over Camilla… Oh, my sweet Camilla. I think I’m proposing to her soon. Turned out my new friend was a smart one, for he came up with a plan to turn Camilla away from that skeever face, and it worked. I felt so good, I even offered to join him, should he venture somewhere near town. He accepted my company, asked me to gear up with some equipment he had brought from Helgen… Now that I think about it, what were he and Hadvar doing in Helgen? Imperial business, I guess. And there I was, clad in a chainmail armor covered with a blue vest, fur boots and gauntlets… A Stormcloack uniform… I didn’t much like that, but he said we would soon find more gear to choose from. I didn’t ask more questions, for I saw her coming out of her brother’s store, there was Camilla Valerius in that beatiful yellow dress. Turns out Andris convinced her that Sven had written an obscene letter about her while she and her brother, Lucan, were arguing about an ornament being lost to thieves. Off we went to Bleakfalls Barrow. Bleakfalls Barrow! How in Oblivion did he get me to go anywhere near those ruins! Guard me, Y'ffre.

I’m writing these lines sitting on a table in the Sleeping Giant Inn, at night, with my third mug of ale, while listening to Sven’s pityful display. No wonder he’s performing so bad since Camilla won’t talk to him anymore. The day was long, but so much happened. We went all the way through Bleak Falls, slayed a dozen bandits, faced a giant frostbite spider and Draugr… Draugr! I sit clad in my brand new set of elven armor, which I claimed as my share of the raid. Also, I got my hands on an ancient steel sword one of the Draugr was wielding before I pierced his hed with an arrow. The thing is sharp! Andris had no objection, especially since he didn’t pay much attention to the chest we found after slaying that frost breathing nord zombie in the final chamber of the catacombs. Now that I think of it, he looked kind of stranged, just staring at that monument. It was a carved wall with strange gliphs I didn’t recognize, with something that looked like a big Argonian in the mid-upper section. Maybe Andris has a taste for nordic antiquities, for he also claimed some kind of tablet from the corpse. He’s a Dunmer, after all. And I’m not so sure he’s part of the Imperial Army anymore, but he definitely fits the post description for Imperial Battlemages. We came back to Riverwood just in time to sell lots of loot to Alvor and Lucan and return the latter’s gold claw to him and Camilla, oh, Camilla…

We got ourselves enough to live like thanes for a couple days. But then Andris bid me farewell and left for Whiterun. Said he had some promise to keep there.

19th of Last Seed.