Anyone should be able to live in peace. A simple truth, yet hard to fully grasp in your life. I, well, I'm not so blessed. You see, war follows in my wake anywhere I go. I try to have no part in it, but war is something that takes root deep down, not just in the world, but in the heart. War is inside of me, attacking my very soul, both weakening and strengthening me as a person. It's destroying my mind, ravaging my conscience. I never know when the attacks come, but I've nearly died on many occasions due to them. I have been wandering the lands of Tamriel since my parents abandoned me the fourth time the curse, as I like to call it, struck at fourteen. I am a lone wolf now; friends are made but are always abandoned due to the ever more frequent attacks, hence the reason I have given up on allies. But the past is gone, and the present is what matters. My idea is simple: cross the border to Skyrim and make myself another new life, where none have heard my name. So the journey begins...
I had such bad luck, crossing into an Imperial ambush. War found me once again, it seems. We were led to a town called Helgen. I heard a scream, almost a second before my inevitable death, not like anything I had ever heard, and before the dragon hit, the 'curse' struck. I became an unrelenting fireball of arcane fury, flinging spells I didn't know existed that even if I did would be far beyond my skill level in all directions. The headsman disentigrated instantly, along with my binds. The black dragon fled, but the citizens weren't so lucky. When my flames petered out, I fled west to the forest in the distance, hoping to forget what I'd done, and never see civilization again.
Just a beginning, more a concept than anything. Please tell me if you want more!
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