Skyrim: The Hunt for Dragons

I awaken on a wagon with my legs and arms all tied together by rope, three Nords around me—the one in front of me wearing a blue cloth over top a chain mail, leather strapping around his chest, long blonde hair, the one just right of him wearing nothing but ragged clothing, as if he was just released from jail (or just very poor), and the last man sitting beside me with long light brown hair and wearing fine royalty clothing and has his mouth gagged and tied-- so he can’t speak, I assume.

I look towards the front to who may be driving the wagon—an Imperial Guard! I guess this won’t be turning out well for me or the wagon in front of with even more prisoners on there.

“Hey, you! You’re finally awake!” the man in front of me states with positive attitude. “You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into the Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.” He leans his head to side, signaling towards the person next to him. I guess that answers the debate why he was wearing ragged clothing.

“Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along! Empire was nice and lazy!” the thief yells in retaliation of the man in front of me. “If they hadn’t been looking for you, I could’ve stolen a horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!”

I guess I made it across the border like I wanted, and finally out of Cyrodiil, but it looks like I am with the wrong group now, the Stormcloaks.

The Stormcloaks are a rebel group that is led by a man named Ulfric Stormcloak, who supposedly had killed some high power in Skyrim or something—I was never really interested in politics. All I know is there not the kind of people you want to mingle with unless you have a death wish towards the Empire, or think of yourself as some “True Nord”.

“You there!” the thief directions towards me, “You and me—we shouldn’t be here! It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!”

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.” The Stormcloak says in retaliation of the thief’s accusation.

“Shut up back there!” the guard in the front yells, annoyed by their conversation. Prisoners don’t get the right to talk to each other, obviously.

“And what’s wrong with him, huh?” the thief gestures towards the man in front of him/beside me.

“Watch your tongue!” snaps the Stormcloak in front of me. “You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!” I guess that answers who is beside me, too. Guess I get to know everyone on this lovely ride. Great—five minutes (or however long it’s been) and I’m going to be executed as the right hand of Ulfric.

“Ulfric? The Jarl of Winterhelm?” Questioned the thief, “You’re the leader of the rebellion!”

I chuckle. “No, really?” I ask, sarcastically, “He only uses his last name for the rebellion.” The soldier in front of me laughs at my comment, as the thief glares at Ulfric, probably for me, too.

“If they’ve captured Ulfric…” the thief starts, “Oh gods, where are they taking us?!” he yells in the realization of what this is coming to.

“I don’t know where we’re going…but Sovngarde awaits.” The soldier answers to the thief, in a low tone of sadness.

We all know where this is going to lead, but no one wants to admit—none of us want to die, even the Stormcloak soldier who would gladly give his life for Ulfric, the supposedly true “High King”.

“No, this can’t be happening. This isn’t happening.” The thief repeats in denial, breathing heavily, thrashing around with tears in his eyes.

The soldier looks over to the thief with compassion in his eyes. “Hey, what village are you from, Horse Thief?” he asks in sympathetic tone.

“Why do you care?”

“A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.” The soldier answers, with a sympathetic smile.

It’s easy to tell he wishes that we weren’t here—it’s obvious to see he feels at fault for our lives, as well as his own.

The thief hesitates, and stutters his words out: “R-Rorikstead. I’m… I’m from Rorikstead.”

A yell from the distance—one of the Imperial soldiers, probably—“General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!”

A voice answers back, by the first yell, must be General Tullius: “Good! Let’s get this over with.”

The thief in prayer speaks aloud: “Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me!”

“There are no Gods here to help, I’m sorry.” I whisper just loudly enough for him to at least catch earful of what I said. I look towards the front to the village we have arrived in. A quaint little area that looks familiar to me.

The soldier in front of me spits, “Look at him! General Tullius the Military Governor.” I can hear the disgust for him in every word. “And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this!” A faint roar could be heard in the distance, no one else reacts but me. It’s… familiar.

As is this town, it may be… Helgen? I’m not sure—last time I was here, I was only but a boy. The soldier whispers aloud: “This is Helgen—“I guess my theory was accurate, according to him, this was a beautiful town—before today. “I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with jupier berries mixed in.” He laughs. “Funny, when I was a boy the castle walls and towers would make me feel so safe.”

I can hear how scared he is, even with the way he has been talking. No man prepares for death—not even soldiers. I can hear the talk of the people around me, kids wondering what this, civilians being proud of the Imperials for bringing in the blood-thirsty killer Ulfric. Parents hiding their children from this fate—Good parents, bad war.

I hear the solders now, ordering the prisoners out of the wagons, stopping the horses, giving the commands to each other. They each sound so excited.

The thief’s breath starts heavy again, “Why are we stopping?” He asked. An obvious question, but I don’t have the heart to tell him.

“Why do you think? End of the line.” The Stormcloak answers quietly, to try and keep him calm. We stop by the cart that was in front of us before, as they’re all exiting it to get in line for their fates—fellow to ours. “Let’s go. Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.” The Stormcloak states, waiting for the thief to move.

The thief panics as we all stand to meet our captors, “No! Wait! We’re not rebels!”

“Face your death with some courage, thief!” The Stormcloak yells at him.

The thief answers back “You’ve got to tell them! We weren’t with you! This is a mistake!” He continues to yell, as we all jump down from the wagon, to line up for a name call.

“Face us, and walk towards the block once we call your name! One at a time!” A soldier yells towards us. She must be some high up, a Lieutenant or Commander, maybe?

The Stormcloak whispers, “Empire loves their damned lists.”

The soldier begins, “Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm.” Ulfric then bows his head towards the soldiers, and walks himself to the headsmen, accepting his fate in all.

“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric.” The Stormcloak proclaims to his fallen leader.

The soldier continues, “Ralof of Riverwood.” The Stormcloak soldier, Ralof, follows in the footprints of Ulfric, accepting his soon-to-be fate, as well. “Lokir of Rorikstead.” The soldier continues.

Lokir flips and rebels, “No! I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!” He charges forward, and tries to make a break for it, escaping the guards’ clenches. “You’re not going to kill me!”

The Captains declares for the Archers to fire, and they do. They nail him multiple times in the back; dead before he even drops. A sad fate, but he asked for it once he tried to run—he had a better chance living if he just stayed.

“Anyone else feel like being brave and trying to run?” The Captain asks, after the example has been made of Lokir.

The original soldier continues his list, with me: “Wait… You there, step forward.” I do as told, and step up to him. “Your name isn’t listed here, nor do I recognize you under anything, who are you?”

I let a small smile slip across my lips, and take a small breathe, “I’m Caius Mede. An Imperial from Cyrodiil and, you are?”

He chuckles and looks down at his list, “Hadvar. You’re a long way from the Imperial City, what are you doing in Skyrim?

My smile stays, thankful to his kindness he’s showing. “Only trying to make my way through, sir.”

He nods. “Captain, what are we to do, his name isn’t on the list.”

“Forget the list, he goes to the block.” She answers back in a serious tone, non appreciative of our small talk. “Don’t forget soldier, these are scum, not friends.”

Hadvar nods again, “By your orders, Captain.” He looks to me, sympathy in his eyes, as if he disagrees with her orders for me, “I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil.”

I nod in agreement, “Thank you.” I follow the footprints of those before, Ulfric and Ralof. I stand in front of a growing crowd of civilians, excited to witness our executions, and behind the majority of the prisoners. I can see everything. I stand next to Ralof, and another Stormcloak I had to meet. General Tullius is confronting Ulfric in front of us all. I guess it’s to make a fool of Ulfric in front of his men, I doubt it’ll work, but it’d be good morale for the Empire.

“Ulfric Stormcloak, some here in Helgen call you a Hero, but a Hero does not use a power, such as the voice, to murder his King and take his throne.” Tullius declares, not able to hear what Ulfric has to say side a few grunts from his mouth being covered. “You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!”

The soldiers for the Empire cheer, as the Stormcloaks boo, alongside the cheers and boo of the common folk. “Such a diverse land, with their wars.” I jokingly whisper to myself. A sound is heard in the distance, another roar, this time I wasn’t the only one to hear it. Everyone looked around, and questioned the noise that shook this land.

“What was that, sir?” Hadvar had questioned towards, either the Captain or to Tullius.

“It’s nothing! Carry on!” Tullius signals to the guards, and walks to the sidelines, prepared to see the death of the rebellion, and I.

A Priestess walks forward, to give us our last amends, as in procedure-- I can’t help but to feel scared, this is not the life I wanted in Skyrim. I came here to get away, not to die. I want to make a new, adventure into things people don’t even understand, become a hero to some, and an enemy to others—not die before I even lived. I look up to the Priestess still talking, and I begin to accept my fate to the Gods.

“For the love of Talos, shut up and get this over with.” The Stormcloak on the right of me yells, and marches forward to the Priestess and Headsman. The Priestess nods and moves back to allow the execution. “Come on, I don’t have all morning!” the Stormcloak yells again, facing the block and kneels to it. The Captain pushes him down, so his neck lays on it. “My ancestors are smiling on me, Imperials! Can you say the same?!” The Stormcloak barks out again, as the Headsman walks forward, raising his axe for the next deed. With all his force and strength, the axe swings down, through the Stormcloak’s neck, taking his head clean off. The poor bastard asked for it, and received. The head shot off, and missed the basket, rolling off somewhere with his eyes, still open.

His body falls to the side, and gets dragged off by some Imperial Grunts, while the Stormcloak allies yell in anger and throwing profanity around. No matter how accepting they were acting, they weren’t, and were not prepared. The Imperials answered their yells, by chanting: “Death to the Stormcloaks!” No side was happy; this war tore this land apart, by the looks of it.

Ralof tries to remember his fallen ally with honorable words: “As fearless in death, as he was in life.”

The Captains demands for the next, calling me “the Renegade from Cyrodiil”. I step with no argument, and no words. No matter what I would say, Death is what waits for me, towards Gods of Talos, Mara, and they other seven waiting in Oblivion for their souls. My next step was followed by another noise in the distance, but closer to before, it sounds like the roar in my dream before I awoke. What is it? The guards question again, and the Captain plays it off, as if we are all imagining the same thing. Denial, it sucks.

I walk forward, and kneel to my knees facing the block with a small smirk on my face. The least I can do, is go out smiling, I guess. I can feel the Captain’s foot on my back, as she forces me down, resting my neck on the block for my execution. My head faces the Headsman, as he prepares to behead me; his weight shifting as he lifts his axe. I can see behind him, the clear blue sky of Skyrim that I will be leaving before I could officially enjoy it. Another roar shakes the land, as I spot something distance, flying. I can’t tell, nor do I know what it is. It almost looks like a…. Dragon!

Someone spots the same thing I see, “What in Oblivion is that?!” The Dragon gets closer, and lands on the tower behind the Headsman. The collision of it landing knocks the Headsman down, along with some of the other guards, and prisoners. Soldiers, Prisoners, and anyone else begin to all yell the same things: Run! Dragon! Help!

The Headsman beside me gets back, and recovers his stance as he faces down the Dragon. The Dragon tilts its head, and let’s out a mighty roar with enough force to send the Headsman flying, and pushes me across the ground. The sky above changes from clear to blackness, as it was in my dream. This Dragon is of that, my dream. It came for me, to kill me. If not the Empire, but by this Dragon, this day is obviously not my day.

The Dragon roars into different directions, destroying whatever may be in its way. Nothing is safe from it, nothing can kill. I can’t my legs, my arms, and my body. I’m too scared. This is not real, Dragons, are not real. It faces me again, and roars, throwing me against one of the wagons.

Ralof runs to help me up; somehow he got his rope off him arms. “Come on! Get up!”

I’m breathing heavily, trying to get myself caught up to what is happening. “I’m up!”

“Let’s go then!” Ralof shouts into my ear, and heads towards the nearest tower. I follow him with the destruction around me, I can see parts of the houses burned down, and knocked around me. This is a nightmare, for all of us.

The tower is filled by all of the former Prisoners. They are all trying to figure this out, asking Ulfric (or by their words, Jarl Ulfric) if the legends are true, if this is a Dragon by what old Lore states. Not even he knows though, as he gives open-ended answers of maybe, and possibly. He is as scared as all of us. My arms still bound together, I can’t do anything. We feel the tower shake, as a wall up top is blown through, killing a few Stormcloak soldiers. The Dragon blows fire in to kill whoever may be near. We’re all ordered to run up there, and jump out to closest house or building. I’m sent up first.

One last thing I hear from Ulfric, the surest thing he said: “Legends don’t burn down villages. This is real.”

The house next to the tower has the roof blown clean off, with a few debris scattered on the floor of the house. I jump out of the hole in the wall, and land on one of the few wooden pillars still standing in the house, and then jump to the floor and rush out of the house. Outside, I run into Hadvar with some of his allies trying to get people to safety. I can see the dead all over the place, along with the smell of burnt skin. The Dragon lands in our path, and Hadvar jumps towards me pushing me down, as the Dragon breathes out fire just over top of us, taking out a few Imperial Guards.

“Are you okay, Caius?” Hadvar asks, while trying to catch his breath.

I cough an answer out, “Yeah, thanks.”

“We got to move, now, if you want to live.” He jumps up, pulling me along. I follow Hadvar to a wall that the Dragon lands on, breathing fire onto more of the soldiers, taking out tens of dozens of them at once. It moves on, as do we, sprinting through the remains of a few houses that aren’t on fire, but are destroyed. Passing by archers, doing their best to try and shoot down this beast. At the gate stand even more archers, sending out as many arrows a minute as possible, alongside Mages sending out Frost and Flames spells into the sky, trying to keep up with the flying Demon.

Hadvar yells towards me: “It’s you and me, Prisoner. Stay close. We’ll make it, I promise!” His words sound sure, and trusting. He’s a good man, trying to get me away from death, when I was just about to have my head taken off. We run into Ralof outside of a Guard Station. They exchange insults, as I can tell, they have a history, as Hadvar calls Ralof a traitor who retaliates with calling Hadvar a murderer. They wish death upon each other, and both tell me to follow the both of them as they run into separate building. I trust my gut, and follow Hadvar, the one who seems the more sympathetic towards me, and isn’t more protective over Ulfric. I’d rather save me, not some self-absorbed resistance starter. We run into the Keep, just barely escaping the Dragon’s swoop.

Hadvar tries to catch his breathe, and cuts my bindings off. Freedom, finally. He tells me to check around the room for armor and weapons, as he looks ahead in the hallway forward. I find some Imperial Light armor, and put it on, a perfect, of course. Next, off the Weapon rack, I find two One-Handed Iron Swords, perfect, let’s see those lessons as a kid pay off today. I follow behind Hadvar as we run through the Keep. In the next room we come across we find Stormcloaks, who, even under a Dragon attack, would rather not be with Imperials, great.

They ready their weapons and charge, as I defend against both attacks and rebuttal with two slashes at each, ripping through their armor and their chests—taken down in seconds. They need more training if they want to be an army. We make our way down stairs as the ceiling up top starts to come down on top of us, no turning back now.

“Where do we go now?” I ask Hadvar, as I still try to catch my breath.

“There should be a door down there that leads to the prison room, which has a tunnel out of here. That’s where we are heading, go now!” He answers back, as he tries to do the same as me. We head down and spot more Stormcloaks in the supply room, we try to reason with them—no dice. We kill them as well.

A little bit further down, and we make it to the prison room to see a Guard and a Mage fighting two Stormcloaks—we try to lend a hand in. I come up from behind charging into a wall, ramming my sword into his back, the other outmatched, get engulfed in flames by the mage.

“You fellows came just in time, they were outfighting us. I’m Carmalo. The Torturer here. Is it true what is happening up there?” Carmalo asks in an odd joyful tone

“Yeah, this entire place is going down in Oblivion. Get out while you can.” Hadvar answers in a hurry, grabbing a few supplies of potions. “Caius, there’s a few lock picks over here if you want them, I’ll turn a blind eye, even.”

I take them, and hurry down into the hall where the tunnel entrance is supposed to be. Hadvar and I make our way across the bridge into it, as behind us, rocks fall and destroy our way back. In the tunnels below, I finally figure out that my armor has a hood, and I raise it. It’s good to seem a little mysterious, and stay under the radar a little bit. We run into more Stormcloaks, this time, they’re being led by a Commander.

“Boys, we may die here, but it looks like we can take some Imperial trash with us. Archers, fire.” The Commander yells, and points forward at us, signaling the archers. Hadvar jumps out of the way and I rush forward avoiding the arrows. I pick up a two-handed long sword from the ground, slashing at the first archer, right through his bow and his throat. The archer falls to the ground, bleeding out. Without hesitation I charge towards the next archer, as they still try to hit with me arrows, I swing around him, grabbing a dagger on his side, and slashing it up his spine. He was the next to fall.

“What the Hell are you? Some kind of freakin’ Elf?! Kill this Bastard!” He shouts in fear, as I face him next. With all the strength I had, I chucked the long-sword towards him, and he uses his shield defend, though pushing him back some. As he tries to get his stance back, I pounce onto him, pushing the dagger into his neck. The remaining two archers don’t know what to do, and just surrender in fear of me.

Hadvar being almost speechless, “W-where did you learn to do that?”

“My Dad.” I answer back without a second thought. “What should we do with them?”

Hadvar without any words kills them. I don’t question him, or his motives; it’s none of my business. We’re almost out when, just our luck, a nest. A spider nest to be exact, and they’re big. They come at us, but Hadvar begins to shoot down with arrows that he picked off of the Stormcloaks.

“Thanks, I was actually scared for a second.” I cough out. “I don’t like spiders when they are as big as me. Why in the Oblivion are they this big?”

“Couldn’t tell you. Skyrim Spiders always happen to be this big; I’ve seen them in other places, but not as often.” Hadvar answers with a laugh at my fear.

We push through a few more spider nests, and a few bears who took residency in the cave. We make it out with only a few scratches, but we survived.

I can see the Dragon flying off, finally being done with Helgen. It overlooks us, and flies into the open sky. We thank the Gods for it. I can finally see the skies of Skyrim, without the fear of losing my head.

“You know, Hadvar, thanks to that Dragon I wouldn’t be here now, with my head.” I joke to Hadvar, who in turn, laughs.

“Yeah, but this is a threat. Skyrim hasn’t seen Dragons in thousands of years, and I doubt they came back just to save you.” He laughs. “There’s a town near here, Riverwood, I have friends there if you’d like to come with me, if not, you could always go to Solitude; we could use a warrior like you in the Empire.”

“I’ll consider both offers, but right now, I want to explore some of my possibilities, thanks.”

Hadvar and I say our good-byes, and I find myself alone in Skyrim. To start a new, this is my life, and my story.