Dovah ahrk Od

Prologue (Part Two)

A young woman lay on a cart filled with Stormcloak prisoners, her body slumped over in unconsciousness.

The other bound victims stared at her dirty form, still curious as to how a little Breton found herself within the largest ambush of Skyrim's Civil War.

"Do you think she's dead?" the man at the end asked in a shaky voice. He was dressed in rags like that of the unconscious woman.

The Stormcloak, sitting next to him, shook his head. "The little thing is breathing. I almost feel sorry for her being alive. Since they've captured Ulfric, Sovngarde awaits..."

"No...no, this can't be happening. This isn't happening! I'm not a rebel!"

"Face your death with some courage, thief. What's your name, anyway?"

The man sighed. "Lokir. I'm from Rorikstead."

"Ralof—from Riverwood. My only regret is not getting to tell my sister and nephew goodbye. He wants to become a Stormcloak when he grows into a man. That boy will make one fine soldier, someday...if there's still a war to fight, that is."

"Shut up back there!"

Lokir hushed his tone as he glanced at the man sitting across from him, his mouth tightly bound. "You're Jarl Ulfric, leader of this damned rebellion. Do you see where your ignorance has gotten us?!"

The Jarl of Windhelm could only growl at the horse thief, glaring at him.

Ralof wacked the dirty man with his bound hands, "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to the true High King of Skyrim!"

Lokir sneered in the Jarl's direction. "He is no High King—just a coward who couldn't accept the—"

"The next person who speaks will have their tongue cut off by my sword!"

The men remained silent, each giving the little woman glances as they arrived into Helgen. The chopping block was set out for them, still bloody from when they last used it.

As the carts slowed to a halt, the Stormcloak prisoners stood up and, one by one, hopped off to form a line.

The Imperial Officer in charge of this mass execution noticed the young Breton down, and she marched her way onto the cart, kicking her awake.

"Get up, you damned traitor! Move it!"

The Breton gasped awake, glancing around at everyone in utter confusing. "What...where am I? What's going on?"

A young Imperial eyed her, noticing that she was nothing more but a small Breton. Clearly, she couldn't be apart of the Stormcloak army. "Ma'am, I don't think she belongs here."

"And how would you know? Have you even checked the list for her name?!"

He shook his head, "My apologies."

The young woman quickly figured out where she was. It was an execution for the rebels, a war that she chose to never involve herself in. Her home hailed that of High Rock, and she was here in Skyrim to attend the College of Winterhold. But after being kidnapped by bandits and held hostage for a few months, she thought her life would be saved after she managed to escape their den; however, it seemed that her destiny, no matter what, would be death.

"Who are you?" the young man asked her.

She gulped, her voice quivering, "Enora Dumont, from High Rock."

"Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list. She's not with these traitors."

The captain shrugged, merely smirking. "She can go to the block!"

The Imperial soldier sighed, giving Enora a look of pure sympathy, "I'm sorry...I'll make sure that your remains are returned to High Rock. Follow the rebels to the chopping block."

Her large, blue eyes leaked with tears, but she sucked it up and tried her best to calm down. She wouldn't end up with her head in a basket, and she definitely wouldn't end up like the fool who was laying in the road dead, an arrow wedged into his back.

Her mage skills were excellent, but she had to figure out which spell would cause enough destruction to cause a scene grand enough for her to escape. Perhaps if she turned herself invisible, she could—

The sound of a roaring cry that carried over the mountains shook her out of her thoughts.

"What was that?" the young, Imperial soldier asked his captain.

She huffed in frustration. "It doesn't matter! Next, the Breton!"

Her breath all escaped at that moment. It was over. It was all over. Her life would never mean anything. Her dreams of becoming a famous mage would never come to pass.

As she walked towards the chopping block, another call shook the entire town. Both soldiers and citizens began to shift in fear.

"I said...next prisoner!" The captain called out, unworried of this mysterious echo.

A quiet sob escaped Enora as she kneeled in front of the last thing her body will ever touch, laying her head on it.

Suddenly, a large dragon, as black as a moonless night, emerged from the mountains, landing on the tower above her and shouting words of power that both shook and destroyed the town. The sheer force of this dragon knocked the girl unconscious.

When she awoke, she was in the arms of the young Imperial soldier.

He glanced down at her, a small smile on his face. "I see that you're finally awake. You've got a nasty bruise on your head from that dragon attack, but my aunt can clean you up and get you some fresh clothes. They may...be a little long on you. You're quite short—even for a Breton."

Enora glanced around, noticing that they were outside, in the forest. "What...what happened?"

"A dragon attacked Helgen. So many are dead...the whole town is nothing but rubble now."

"Why save me?" she asked.

He sighed. "My guilt wouldn't allow me to leave you there. You didn't deserve to die, so I carried you out of there and through an underground system that led to here."

"Oh...um, since you know my name, what's yours? And where are we going?"

"Hadvar, and we're going to Riverwood. My Uncle is the blacksmith there. My Aunt Sidgrid will be able to take care of you...so tell me, what is a Breton native to High Rock doing in Skyrim?"

Enora glanced a way, a bit embarrassed. "I wanted to attend the College of Winterhold, but a group of bandits kidnapped me before I could get there, and they kept me locked in a cage at one of their hideouts for months. I managed to escape...only to bash my head on a pretty thick branch. That's why I was knocked out."

"Gods above. It's a wonder that you're alive. Your head is going to fall off one way or another if you keep hurting it."

She rolled her eyes, admiring the view as they neared closer and closer to the river town.

If only she knew what would be in store for her from here on out...