A Skyrim Tale: The Wanderer

  • Chapter Two

                The shield slammed into Aelon with colossal force.  A resounding clang emitted from the contact of the ring on his left hand as he instinctively blocked the shield, the sound reverberating off the walls of the inn.  Aelon slid back slightly as the force of the blow rattled down his body.  The Redguard rapidly re-positioned the shield and attempted to stab Aelon from around the right side of the shield, but the sword went wide.

                During this small scene of battle, Aelon had been looking down at the floor for an unknown reason.  It was as if he was taking counsel with himself and was exploring all available options and analyzing the outcomes of every move.  A spectator would have finalized this thought, for Aelon looked up sharply into the face of his assailant, his eyes raging with a sudden, frightening blood-lust.  He put both hands on the shield and torqued it to his right, flowing with the shield in a graceful form.  The Redguard barked a guttural curse as his left arm bent awkwardly.  There was a sickening snap, and the shield slid off of the Redguard’s arm.

                The foe wasted no time, grabbing his sword with the strongest grip he could so muster and striking downward at Aelon’s head.  However, the hunter had perceived this threat in his counsels, and side-stepped to the left of the incoming blade and, with is right hand, pushed the Redguard back.  He stood tall, as the Redguard recovered, tall and no longer a figure of the cloaked darkness, but a raw force awakened from a deep, ancient slumber.

                Aelon reached down and slowly drew his sword from it’s sheathe.  The process was deliberate, an attempt to frighten the Redguard perhaps, in hopes that he would be weakened in more ways than physical disarray.

                The sword was a Dwemer sword.  It shone with a gold-coloured brilliance as the sputtering candles reflected off of the blade.  Runic carvings were etched all over the sword; on the hilt, the blade, the cross guard, and indeed even the pommel.  It was an epiphany, a perfection, of Dwemer craftsmanship.

                The Redguard’s eyes flitted between the sword and the hunter’s face.  He now seemed to sense the aura around the man, a different aura than he earlier perceived.  It was the aura of a dangerous man, someone different by normal standards.  But, alas, resolve took over the aggressor and he, screaming ceremonial Hammerfell war cries, pressed his attack.

                The fight was one dipped in strategy and calculation.  Through various maneuvers, Aelon managed to gain the advantage, pressing the Redguard back with relentless ferocity.  And then, in one fell strike, it was over.  The iron sword came downwards, aiming for the head once more.  The Dwemer blade met it, Aelon directly under the blade, crouching, as he spun under the iron sword.  When he came to face with the Redguard’s belly, he slid to the left and ripped open the Redguard’s stomach with the trailing sword.  Blood and entrails fell freely from the gash, collecting in a generally disgusting congeal of red blood and white parts of the intestinal tract.

                Silence overtook the inn.  The scope of attention, which was so narrowly focused on the battle, widened.  All the present faces were aghast and pale, and some even half-ran half-stumbled outside, retching after the sight of the blood pool.  Only the inn-keeper had a slight reaction to the event.

                “Aelon,” she said, trailing.

                One would imagine that a man or woman would revel in their victory in the face of sudden onslaught.  That same one would be surprised to see Aelon doing the exact opposite, for the hunter knelt down and closed the still-open eyes of his opponent.  He crouched there, staring into the face of the unruly visitor he had just slain for quite awhile before standing.  He panned the room slowly with the sword still gripped in his hand, dripping with blood.

                It was an awkward moment, and was only relieved when; deciding seclusion to be the best option, the woodsman turned and withdrew into his quarters.  When the door closed and Aelon slowly sat into a nearby chair, he began to hear men quietly and solemnly cleaning up the mess.

                Now, this had a much larger impact than he showcased on the exterior.  Memories from his past swam over him and his vision and mind became blurred and glazed.  Death.  Blood.  Ambition.  The horrible phrase repeated itself in his mind, booming with thunderous, divine power.  He thought he could faintly feel his hands clawing at his face, but he was uncertain, and instead burdened himself with the task of reaching the bed in want of rest.

     

                The night had descended upon Falkreath when Aelon awoke.  His mind remained in a drunken stupor.  He lay there on the bed, half-covered in the unruly covers.  Silence once more ruled the night, yet the faint talking of men and women echoed in the distance.  The air was rank with the odor of ale.  His mouth tasted dry, and the bed was composed of an itchy fabric.  He rolled over and fell back into his uncomfortable sleep.

     

                The door slammed.  Aelon woke with a start, immediately sitting up as his pulse began to quicken.  His mind was slower to react, and he felt sick after the abrupt motion.  Setting down a hand to steady him, Aelon sat up a bit further and waited for his mind to recover.

                This took approximately four minutes.  While he sat there, memories from the prior night returned.  However, presently he viewed it with indifference and a detached attitude.  It seemed that he had returned to his own self, undaunted by his past.

                Death.  Blood.  Ambition.

                He shook his head and stood up, pressing the thoughts to the corner of his mind.  Left with nothing to do, he decided to investigate the cause of the door slamming, which had so rudely awoken him.

                But there were multiple doors slamming.  Faint screams could be heard!  Aelon became alert almost immediately and geared up, checking the sword before re-sheathing it.  Once satisfied, he turned and walked out of his room.  The inn was deserted.  All doors were ajar, and the objects and furniture inherent with the room were tossed over or burned.  The screaming and door-slamming was outside.

                A colossal, ear-shattering roar shook the inn.  Several similar roars sounded, all of which sounded to be in Falkreath.  Aelon drew his sword and ran outside.

                What he saw stunned him.  The town was completely in flames.  Bodies scattered the roads and streets.  The gate was collapsed and a mound of bodies lay in front of it, no doubt the result of clogged retreat.  The air was smoky, fire and ash raining down.  A smell of charred wood and burnt flesh over-powered the senses, creating a wave of nausea for Aelon.

                It was cast aside rapidly, however, for a new fear arose.  In the sky, circling overhead and shooting jets and fireballs of fire, were four dragons.  Guards were fighting them, shooting up in their general direction with arrows.  Some were even throwing spears and silver-ware in a mad attempt to harm the dragons.

                One of the circling dragons veered off, flying straight for Aelon.  Why me?  He examined his environment and answered his own inquiry:  He was alone in the street, an easy target.  There were no guards nearby and only a few corpses and pieces of rubble accompanied the street with him.

                The dragon neared at an alarming speed.  Aelon knew he’d have no time to draw his bow and get a shot out before the dragon reached him.  Therein he once more drew his Dwemer blade.  He sprinted over to a narrow alley just as a stream of fire engulfed the area that he stood.  The heat was painful even from a distance, and the cobblestone road began to melt into a plushy sludge.

                The ground began to shake as the dragon landed.  The hunter wasted no time and leaped into the air, grabbing a stray wooden pole jutting out of a half-burned homestead.  Hoisting himself up, he quickly ascended to the rooftop.  The dragon was still searching for him when he reached the edge of the rooftop.  Steeling himself, he took a running jump.  Everything seemed to reach a state of slowness.  The dragon had turned, noticing Aelon, and slowly its maw opened.  Then time returned to its normal pace as he fell past the dragon’s head, slashing at it while he was falling.

                Hot blood spurted from the gash that sprouted on the left side of its snout.  It roared in pain and began to scratch at the wound.  Aelon rolled to decrease the gravity of his feat, then turned and sprinted toward the dragon.  It noticed him once more and made an attempt at taking off his head.  Ducking, the woodsman closed the gap rapidly and jabbed at its throat.  More hot blood poured out.  The dragon began to gurgle slightly.  It roared a frantic sound inherent in its roar.  The other dragons answered the call and disengaged themselves from the ragged few defenders and began to fly for Aelon.

                There was no hope in taking on all of them.  Cursing, and with one final slash at the dragon’s face, Aelon turned and sprinted through a burning gap in the wall.  With a speed unmatched he melded into the forest and disappeared from sight.

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    Well, a bit more violent and action-packed than the earlier chapter.  At this point Falkreath had been besieged by, truly, four dragons, which slaughtered the locale.  I was forced to flee after nearly slaying the one dragon, so this entire excerpt is for the most part accurate.  I hope you enjoyed it

Comments

2 Comments
  • Arnen
    Arnen   ·  April 17, 2012
    I just made a Table of Contents in the Skyrim Journal group.  Here's the link for anyone that wants to read the first chapter before this one:  http://theskyrimblog.ning.com/group/journeys-in-skyrim/forum/topics/a-skyrim-tale-the-wanderer-table-of-content...  more
  • Kynareth
    Kynareth   ·  April 17, 2012
    Arnen, I am so glad that you are continuing this story, as the first chapter you wrote really caught me with its mystery, the nobility of the character, and his internal strife.   You actually developed that even more here, and your descriptions of a very...  more