The Outlawed Hero- Prologue/Introduction

• Posted by Riggzon August 31, 2014 - 1,119 views

  Before I start the first part of this story, I'd like to refer to a few points of reference for those who are a bit confused with the main character or anything else. I've made a Table of Contents with the backstory of Na'jad the Ironclaw, a brief summary of the events that brought him to Skyrim and a small character profile of him, so people know what skills he uses and what armour he commonly wears etc. A lot of inspiration came from Okan-Zeeus' "Dragon of the East" story, which similarly depicts his character's journey through Skyrim, so I'd like to give a big thank you to him for that and the advice he's given me.

  So without further ado, I present:

  The Outlawed Hero

  Prologue

  "Riders", I thought to myself, as my ears pricked up at the sound of horseshoes treading on the partly cobbled road. For a few days now I'd been camped in a small, yet beautiful glade, nestled on the border of the lush pine forests that grew into Falkreath Hold. My sword, a fine piece of Ebony, black as the night, rested on a tree stump next to me, but I snatched it up as I heard the riders closing the distance between us. As a Khajiit, my keen senses had alerted me to the presence of the men coming towards me, however I could tell they knew where I was as well as I did them, most likely by my campfire, since the gentle clop, clop of their horses had receded meaning they had left the road and were continuing down the small hill towards me.

  As well as my sword, numerous other items, primarily my armour, were scattered somewhat neatly around my humble camp. There was no time to get into the steel plate that I usually wore, but I slung my bow over my back and planted a few arrows in the ground in case these men decided to attack from a distance. The bow had been a gift from an Orc chief, after I helped defend his stronghold from a group of bandits. Naturally, it was Orcish steel, more bulky and large than a regular bow, but deadly once I learnt how to use it. However, even if I was deprived of these weapons, I still had the magicka that had flowed through my veins since before I can remember. After gathering that and a few more items, I eased myself into a crouch, bow drawn, and awaited the oncoming riders.

  Less than gracefully, the group, seven now that I counted them, crashed through the trees into the glade where I crouched. The apparent leader, a tall, hardy Nord (although they were all Nords, and all tall, compared to me) broke off from his followers and dismounted his horse. Despite not knowing their true intentions, I felt safer seeing the leader had not drawn his sword, and in turn I lowered my bow slightly, keeping it drawn, but reciprocating his gesture of peace.

  "Greetings, wanderer, we saw this fire from your camp and decided to investigate, what are you doing out here?" The man asked. He wore a bear pelt cloak, as well as bracers and boots, but no helm. His exposed face was chiseled and had a fierce look, accompanied by his bristly blond stubble, that was slightly darker than his long hair, which he had tied back.

  "I'm just a wanderer, as you said, crossing the border so I can travel Skyrim." By the look on his face, the leader was surprised I spoke his language as well as he did, without the usual Khajiit dialect. I glanced over to his men, they were all armoured in light mail and leather, with blue cloths fastened from their shoulders to their waist, some form of militia, maybe?

  "Well, we were just passing through this way as well, friend, on our way back to Windhelm," By the way this conversation was going, he didn't want to reveal his name, or anything more of his agenda. "We're thinking of making camp soon, one of my men has caught a fever, and we need to stop." Obviously, he wanted to use this area for his camp, effectively throwing me out. Just as I was about to answer, I heard the sound of more horseshoes, this time furiously pounding against the ground. The leader signalled to his men, and two of them disappeared into the forest, coming out a few minutes later (after what sounded like a struggle), dragging a scraggly man in peasant's clothes with them.

  "I swear that horse was my own!" The man shouted tugging against the strong arms of the Nord soldiers restraining him. The horse in question followed the three men into the clearing a few moments later. It was without a doubt a lie that the horse was the peasant's. More likely it belonged to an Imperial or nobleman, based on its grooming and well fed look. The group of Nords looked like they knew as well.

  "Horse thief," the man in charge said, "where were you planning on going with that fine steed?"

  "H-hammerfell," the thief gasped out, after he caught his breath "but I- oh no!" he shouted, before I heard battlecries and the charge of a band of other soldiers behind me. But as I started to turn, something bludgeoned me in the head, and the world went dark.

                            ~~~~~~~~~                                 

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