Tey do Keizaal - Chapter 1 blog - AK151

A small re-write of the Skyrim story. I'm feeling pretty decent about this, so I might just continue this. As always, please comment and give me some feedback if you have any. Enjoy!

My eyes opened slowly so as to keep from being blinded by the light that was sure to assail them the moment they were not under the protection of their lids. But the light was dim, dim enough to feel comfortable. It was overcast, so maybe that meant some rain? After sight came sound, the sound of hooves hitting the ground, mingled with the creak of turning wooden wheels and the occasional bump as they struck a stray rock or the like. I was in a cart. A horse-drawn cart.

"Hey, you," a voice to my right sounded, jarring me from the daze common to those just waking up. My head throbbed as a head throbs when it has been hit with enough force to knock its owner unconscious. With the jarring voice came a slightly clearer picture of the world. The cart was in a forest, probably traveling some forsaken or rarely used road. What was of interest was the driver. He wore a brown vest with dark red sleeves and collar. If I wasn't mistaken, it was the armor of the Imperial legion. If I was correct, we were sitting in an Imperial legion cart. I tried to move my hands apart but they were bound, which in itself unnerved me. We were prisoners. I realized then that I had yet to see who "we" was, and my eyes turned to inform me.

Across from me sat a Nord with long, untrimmed blonde hair like myself. Unlike myself, he was cloaked in armor. Its coloring was blue and brown, and under the leather was a slightly visible coat of chain-link mail. The coat was unfamiliar to me, but looking to my left, I saw more men and women in the same armor. My gaze returned to the man in front of me, who was staring at me. I realized it was his voice that had jarred me so.

"You're finally awake," he continued. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

I tried to jog my memory, but the blow to my head did more than knock me unconscious. I was still dazed from the hit.

"Damn you Stormcloaks!" another voice growled, coming from next to the man who had just spoken, at the edge of my vision. My head turned slightly to get a glimpse of him. He was wearing nothing but rags, and his eyes were gaunt. His brown hair was disheveled and looked uncared for. "Skyrim was fine, until you came along! Empire was nice and lazy!" So it was the Empire. And Stormcloaks? I jogged my memory a second time, hoping to come to a realization. Then it hit me.

The Stormcloaks were rebels. Their leader, Ulfric Stormcloak, had murdered Torygg, high king of Skyrim. All of them were fully devoted to the downfall of the Empire. And I was sharing a prisoner cart with one.

"If they hadn't been looking for you," the thief, according to the Stormcloak across from me, interrupted my thoughts. "I could have stolen that horse and been half-way to Hammerfell." A horse thief, paired with soldiers that could be considered terrorists? Imperial justice was vindictive, if anything. But if I was in the lot too... "You there!" The two words jolted me as I realized I was being addressed. My eyes met his. "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 responded, his voice growing haughty.

"Shut up back there!" our ever-so-polite driver called over his shoulder. A brief silence was interrupted by the thief.

"What's wrong with him, huh?" His eyes gestured towards the man sitting next to me. His clothing was fine, maybe even regal, which also explained the well-trimmed, if slightly dirty hair. He emanated authority, even bound, and gagged, as he was.

"Watch your tongue!" the Nord across from me hissed. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true high king!" His voice morphed until it sounded as though he was making a proclamation. His devotion was obvious, and even admirable.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" The thief replied, his tone that of surprise. So he was a Jarl. My mind wandered back to the olden days, when feuds between the Jarls were all too common. "You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you..." My mind made the sinister connection all too quickly. "Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going," the Nord responded. "but Sovngarde awaits."

On the outside, my face remained unfazed, almost distant. It was, of course, an act. On the inside, questions raged, chief of them being "why me?", followed closely by "what have I done?". I tried to remember if I had offended the Empire in such a way that deserves death, but my mind failed me, still recovering as it was from the blow that I realized I had no recollection of.

"No, this can't be happening! This isn't happening!" The horse thief was in a panic, unsurprising, given the circumstances. If I hadn't been too busy worrying about myself, formulating a story, an argument that I figured would be foolproof and undeniable proof of my innocence, I would have felt pity for him. Thievery of a horse and when caught he expected a prison sentence, not the headsman's ax.

"Hey," the Stormcloak said in a more gentle, perhaps resigned tone. "what village are you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you care?" he replied angrily, obviously blaming the Stormcloaks for his imminent fate.

"A Nord's last thoughts, should be of home," came the almost detached response.

At the Stormcloak's words, images of my own old house came to me. A small cabin, out in the wilderness, close to Ivarstead. My father and I would occasionally walk through the valleys and the mountain passes. He would teach me to hunt and survive on my own. I learned to use a bow, yes, but my father also taught me how to catch prey without the use of weapons, instead relying on the environment. Those thoughts brought comfort to me, even with my roiling thoughts, and I realized the wisdom in the Stormcloak's words.

"Rorikstead... I'm... from Rorikstead," said the horse thief, but I barely heard him, immersed as I was in my own thoughts.

"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" this new, unfamiliar voice, belonging to an Imperial, did bring me out of my own little dreamworld, and when I looked for the source, I saw the town. It was gated, with an opening large enough for a carriage to pass through with no trouble, protected by two now opened wooden doors. The voice came from a sentry above the gate, walking back and forth above the stone walls.

"Good," said the man at the head of the procession of carriages, whom I assumed was General Tullius. From what I had heard he was the head of the Imperials in Skyrim, the organizer of all of their activities in the continent. His presence came as a surprise initially, but thinking about it and noticing the defeated Ulfric Stormcloak, I realized that this entire execution was planned to be for him. "Let's get this over with."

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh!" prayed the horse thief as the carriage crossed under the great arch that greeted us. "Divines, please help me!"

I looked around, taking in the scenery. Ahead of us, and most apparent, was a pair of watchtowers, very rare in such small hamlets. They hinted at a past in which perhaps the small town we were in was once more important. To the right of the cart I saw several small houses and another gate, but that was not my focus. To the side of the procession, the General had broken off and was now conversing. I saw a group of Altmer, high elves, their yellowish skin easily distinguishable. They were Thalmor.

"Look at him," the Stormcloak scoffed. "General Tullius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him! Damn elves! I bet they had something to do with this!" Damn elves indeed. I had no prejudice against the majority of them, however, one of the reasons my views clashed with the Stormcloaks' often. But the Thalmor I held in contempt for many reasons.

"This is Helgen," the Nord continued in a less agitated voice. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in?" His calmness would have been unnerving if it were unnatural, but calm is always natural when one is about to meet the gods. "It's funny," he murmured, almost dreamily. "when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me fell so safe..."

"Who are they, daddy?" a child's voice asked. My eyes turned, catching a glimpse of the boy, his red shirt and neat hair, his innocent eyes that had never seen death or blood. "Where are they going?"

"You need to go inside, little cub," the father of the boy responded.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."

"Inside the house. Now." The father's voice turned from soft to stern. No child should watch men going to their deaths.

"Yes, papa," the boy complied, clearly disappointed. It was sad to witness his innocence and think back to when I thought the same way.

I looked ahead and my heart began to pound more rapidly as I noticed the carts in the front were coming to a halt. I noticed an armored Imperial woman shouting out orders. "Get the prisoners out of the cart! Move it!"

"Why are we stopping?" the horse thief asked, once again panicking.

"Why do you think?" the Nord replied softly. "End of the line." The cart came to a halt, our friendly driver standing up and hopping down from the cart. "Let's go," the Stormcloak continued, this time addressing me. "Shouldn't keep the Gods waiting for us."

As we stood up to leave the cart, the thief began his futile protests. "No, wait! We're not rebels!"

"Face your death with some courage thief!" the Nord scolded, jumping out of the cart after Ulfric, shoving the small horse thief out. I followed, stretching my legs one last time and rolling my shoulders before stepping off the cart, casually landing on the hard ground and bending my knees to absorb the shock. It felt good to move again.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!" His voice was growing more and more agitated, more and more desperate. I held my peace, not wanting to cause trouble.

"Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time!" the Imperial captain yelled harshly. I took an immediate dislike to her. Beside her was a younger officer. His armor was fine, a silver breastplate, shoulder-pads, and bracers, with crimson sleeves and gold trimmings that wove across the chest, forming the Imperial emblem. In his hands were a quill and paper.

"Empire loves their damned lists," the Stormcloak growled.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," the officer in the fine armor called in a contrastingly calm, almost soothing voice. The gagged Jarl walked forward as his name was called.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," the Stormcloak, now to my left, muttered.

"Ralof of Riverwood," was the next name, and the Nord left my side, walking off to join his companions in front of the block. At least I would know his name. I felt names were important to know.

"Lokir of Rorikstead." The name of the town made me look to the thief, who walked forward.

His voice was at the height of its panic, almost shrill in its protest. "No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" I knew what he was going to do and silently hoped he wouldn't try it.

"Halt!" the female Imperial shouted in her harsh voice as Lokir sprinted as fast as he could past her and the other guards towards the gate.

"You're not gonna kill me!" he called over his shoulder, but I could already see the guards with their bows.

"Archers!" the captain called, and several shafts sprang forward from dark-brown longbows, burying into the back of the runaway prisoner. He was dead before he hit the ground.

I watched the entirety of the grim scene, cursing the stupidity of the thief while also admiring his courage. He was going to die anyways, might as well try and escape. This dangerous thought took root and made me begin to think of a plan of my own.

"Anyone else feel like running?" the Imperial captain snarled. I had half a mind to sprint forward and smash her face in with whatever limb of my body could reach it.

"Wait," the officer next to her said. "You there," he called, addressing me. My gaze shifted and I looked him in the eye. "Step forward."

I took a few steps until I was in front of the two legionnaires. This was my chance to talk my way out of my fate. I had gone through hundreds of mock conversations, and I was fairly confident that the Imperials would be lenient. To be safe I directed my gaze towards the Imperial in the fine armor, who seemed at least a bit more sympathetic than the one to my left.

When I was in front of the two of them, the officer who had addressed me looked me over, trying to find anything distinguishing about me, perhaps to place what crime I had committed to deserve execution. "Who are you?"

And that concludes Chapter 1. If you were able to read through all of that text, feel free to post praise or criticism (I welcome both). Good day!