The Elder Scrolls: Dominion (BOOK 1: Legionnaire)

Chapter 1 - The Life He Never Wanted

The forest of Falkreath was teeming with life. Butterflies and bees roamed the woods, pausing at every flower they can spot. The birds sang proudly, from the canopies of the pines, and every bear and troll was stalking their next meal: a lone elk.

One such elk was more magnificent than the others. Its fur was as white as freshly-fallen snow and its eyes were as icy as a frozen lake. No other beast in the forest was as rare and beautiful as the white stag. Its antlers, which were larger than any other deer in the area, was proof enough of this.

The stag was busy. It had just escaped a hungry bear, just awoken from its hibernation, and it had tired him down. It spotted a nearby pool. It approached and took a much-needed sip. The graceful stag was occupied at quenching its thirst that it didn't realize the arrow that pierced its body and drained its life away, as it collapsed onto the water.

"Excellent shot, Karl!" A nearby voice was impressed. "Quick, let's skin it before the bears do."

Together, the duo emerged from their hiding spot in the bushes, and approached the stag, still clutching their bows. They stared at its splendor, not believing that they have just hunted the most rarest of creatures in the forest. To them, it was like slaying a dragon.

"Such a magnificence." One of the two, a female Bosmer, or a Wood Elf, said in amazement.

"It is." A young male Nord, the one she called Karl, agreed, as he knelt down, unsheathed his hunting knife and proceeded to skin the beauty. He cut off its gorgeous snow-white fur, and chopped off its meat and antlers. He was quite handsome for his age. He had the racially typical shiny blonde Nord hair, some of which he braided, and an almost pale skin. Despite his young age, the muscles on his arms were developing. He was wearing armor made of fur, from his chest down to his hide-made boots.

"Haha, Hircine himself would be proud of you." The Bosmer joked. She had that typical Bosmer brown appearance: brown skin tone, dark-brown hair, which she braided as well and light-brown eyes. She had better armor on than Karl: she was wearing all leather.

"Well, Nia, he hasn't talked to me yet." Karl smirked, as he loaded his loot into his satchel. "And last I checked, I wasn't a furry, howling wolf."

It was getting rather dark, so they made their way to the clearing where they hitched their horses, joking and talking about werewolves, hunting, white stags, hunting, the best bows, and hunting along the way. The duo clambered on their steeds and galloped out of the woods.

Karl has lived this life for fifteen years. He hunted in the woods with Nia, his best and only friend, he tended to his family's farm and he sold the kills he made in the marketplace. He had hunted, harvested, and haggled all his life, and it was becoming tiresome, to the point it was becoming boring. He often compared his life to a wheel: every chore was a spoke that just kept on going on and on until it ultimately...stops. He didn't want the wheel to stop. All he wanted was to fix it the way we he wanted.

To do so, he dreamed of joining the Imperial Legion. Before the boring part of his life, back when he was still what the kids called a "milk-drinker", he would read books about the cunning generals and fearless soldiers of the faction, and all the battles they faced. He studied every branch of the Empire and the Legion's history, hoping this could help him later in life, when he became a true Legionnaire. Now, though, that dream seemed distant, and after the Stormcloaks' recent victory, it was about to be impossible. Another possible reason was because he never talked about his desire to his parents, so he never knew their thoughts on the subject.

The friends finally reached the main road. They traveled on until they reached a small trail that led to Karl's family's homestead. It was no manor, like the ones in Solitude; it was just a small yet cozy cabin. A little stable and animal pen were situated to the left, and the crops to the right. Karl was not ashamed of the property, nor that he was a farmer and hunter. He was just tired of it, and, after all, every hero he has ever read about usually had humble and simple beginnings before becoming famous.