The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

The Prisoner’s Story

Chapter 1 by Pandemos Pandemos

A freezing wind cut through my shaggy clothes. Even before I opened my eyes I knew it; I was not alone. Hooves trampled the half frozen road. The wooden cart creaked as it descended the slopes of the Jerall Mountains. Men coughed, shouted and whispered. Course ropes tied my hands together. This was Skyrim, a land of roughness, cold and ruggedness.

As I opened my eyes, the piercing light sent a knife of sharp pain through my skull. They roughed me up pretty badly.

“Hey, you. You're finally awake.” As my eyes adjusted to the whiteness, I saw a golden-haired man sitting across from me, equally bound. He was garbed in mail and a distinctive blue cloak. “You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

"Damn you Stormcloaks.” A man in rags sitting next to him spit on the wooden floor. “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 been halfway to Hammerfell. You there...” He turned to me. “You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

The first man, the stormcloak, scoffed. "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

"Shut up back there!" I noticed the man driving the cart, an armoured Imperial.

The thief nodded towards the man at the end of the cart. He was bound and gagged, but his clothes looked expensive, and his dark eyes betrayed an aura of authority. "And what's wrong with him, huh?"

"Watch your tongue,” the stormcloak said, “You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

The thief froze. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going,” the stormcloak answered. “But Sovngarde awaits."

"No, this can't be happening,” the thief continues, “This isn't happening."

All men keep quiet for a while, and all I heard was the sound of the wind. The high stone walls of a town appeared through the trees. Seemed we were headed straight towards it.

The stormcloak softly kicked his neighbor to grab his attention. "Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?"

The man stopped his silent praying. "Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

He swallowed. "Rorikstead. I'm... I'm from Rorikstead."

We reached the Imperial manned walls of the town. The place was busy, much busier than you’d expect from the size of it. As we entered through the gates, I spotted a greying officer on a horse. The man was arguing with a golden-skinned elf, a woman with stern eyes. She was noticeably upset.

"You're making a terrible mistake..."

"I will put an end to this rebellion here and now,” the man said. “Rightfully in my position as Legion General."

"Your Emperor will hear of this,” she spat back. “By the terms of the White-Gold Concordat, I operate with full Imperial authority.”

A soldier ran up to the general. "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"

Tullius turned his horse, clearly offending Elenwen, who seemed to mutter something under her breath.

"Good.” Tullius said, “Let's get this over with."

Lokir the horse thief started praying again. "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me."

"Look at him, General Tullius, the Military Governor,” Ralof said as the general spurred his horse in the direction of a stone watchtower. ”And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this.”

He sighed. “This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

A crowd had gathered near the center of town. I saw a young boy grab his father by the hand. "Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?"

"You need to go inside, little cub," his father said.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."

"Inside the house,” he told him. “Now."

"Yes, papa,” the boy grumbled, and he trudged off into a longhouse.

The cart stopped next to another one that was already there. It too was carrying stormcloaks.

"Get these prisoners out of the carts. Move it!" An Imperial soldier lowered the tailboard of the cart, and told me and my companions to leave the cart.

Lokir nervously scanned his surroundings "Why are we stopping?"

"Why do you think,” the stormcloak asked. “End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

Ulfric Stormcloak stepped out of the cart, not even looking at his captors. Lokir however grabbed the Imperial’s cloak as he stumbled out after him. "No! Wait! We're not rebels!"

The stormcloak jumped out before you. "Face your **** with some courage, thief."

Lokir now turned to him. "You've got to tell them!” He screamed. “We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

I was last to leave the cart. An Imperial pushed me into a line, and an officer inspected us. "Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time."

The stormcloak grunted. "Empire loves their damn lists."

A tall Nord in Imperial armour opened a piece of parchment. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm."

The jarl stepped silently towards the center of the town square. The other prisoners had already been called forward, and were staring nervously at a burly executioner sharpening his axe.

The stormcloak stared after the jarl. "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric.

"Ralof of Riverwood,” the Nord called out, to which the stormcloak joined Ulfric. Lokir of Rorikstead was next.

"No, I'm not a rebel,” Lokir screamed, “You can't do this!" Suddenly, the horse thief pushed past the Imperials, and started sprinting in the direction of the walls.

The Imperial officer was having none of that.

"You're not going to kill me," Lokir screamed, right before the officer called for the archers on the wall. A volley of arrows rained down on the horse thief from Rorikstead.

The officer turned towards me. "Anyone else feel like running?"

"Wait,” the Nord said, looking at me,” You there. Step forward. Who are you? Where are you from?”

Where am I from?

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