Warrior of Tamriel: Xerinus by @austinswebilius

Warrior of Tamriel: Xerinus

Long ago did I learn the harsh truth of war. It's lessons burned deep into my mind. Born as an outcast of the Nords and left to die in the frozen wind swept lands of Skyrim I had learned what it meant to truly be strong. My father was a Nord blacksmith and swordsman of some reputation. His works considered by many to be not of this era. My mother was an Imperial scout that had gotten lost during a blizzard on her way back to a small outpost. Nearly frozen to death my father found her when he was out surveying the land for good ore for mining. He had carried her back to his home where he hid her due to the village elders being of the old mindset towards all outsiders. My origins are from this past but my present is set from the events that would transpire as a young man.

I had learned to forage and fend for myself. I had nothing of my family or where I was from save a metal shard that hung around my neck left with me since I was a babe. It was while foraging one day I found a cave and by some strange force the shard hummed and began to tug towards its opening. I followed it into the unknown and what I found there overwhelmed all my understanding. A suit of armor with intricate ancient writing all around it which I could not read. As I lightly moved my hands over it, feeling the cold metal and rough leather bands I could hear a voice from the shard. It bid me take up the armor and I obeyed.

All at once ice began to form as spikes in the armor and the voice, once faint before, was now loud in my mind. I saw visions of battles past, of shattered swords and splintered shields. I saw owner of this armor in his youth smashing down his sword on pillars of ice shattering them with each blow. "Long have been those days. My strength of my life spent but, you... you are not of my line yet you dawn my armor? Tell me your name boy!" The voice in my head demanded to which I said I have none. "I see! You are an outcast yet not. Your blood is mixed indeed but your father is of an ancient line. Since you were not named by him I shall name you and claim you. I have had no heirs to my line till now. You shall be called Xerinus a name to honor my line and to honor your mother's. I shall teach you the art of battle, I shall merge my strength with your own, my memories, my knowledge of the world which you would now call ancient." The voice said to me at first booming but then softening. "Come let us leave this place." I did as instructed and upon leaving the cave felt strange. The frost beneath my feet I could not feel. The chill in the air had gone. I felt a surge of energy as if I could run for days. I felt strength as if I could grapple with a giant and hurl him from mountain to mountain. This is what the voice meant by merging his strength with mine own. At night I would dream of battles long ago. In quiet moments of the day I would here the voice order me to take up a stick or branch and teach me strokes of the blade.

I came to small camp of soldiers of the Pact. Not recognizing my armor and assuming I was a foe they attacked. As men rushed towards me I could hear the voice guide my movements. As if asleep yet still awake I disarmed one man with his sword brought down a blow into collar breaking his bones. The next soldier went for a thrust with his sword and again my body was guided. I had turned away my foe's sword and struck him hard in the face with my fist rendering him bloody and unconscious. The leader of the soldiers ordered them to stop. As the others obeyed and dragged away their wounded the voice told me to approach cautiously and offer my name.

This experience would lead me into the service of the Pact. Many battles fought since then and the voice in the armor has guided me to victory.