Prologue:

My name is Shadrin Darkbane. I am a Nord from Skyrim. This is my story, so far.


I had fled from Skyrim many years ago, but it is still home at heart. I fled because I was a fugitive of the Thalmor. I came from a once strong clan. My Clan had lived in Solitude for 3 generations; at least until the Great War. The Great War of Skyrim had been a clash between Men and Mer. More specifically the Thalmor of the Aldmeri Dominion and the Empire of Tamriel. The Thalmor were Altmer, or High Elves from the mysterious Summerset Isles. My Clan had fought alongside the Imperial Legions from Cyrodill, the Imperial Capitol. They fought and died together. The majority of my Clan was wiped out during the first battle of Solitude. I was just a young but strong boy back then. Fifteen years of age, but not old enough to be alone though I could already take care of myself. Before the war, my father taught me how to hunt, make fire, survive in the wild, use a real sword, and even a little magic. Magic in Skyrim was shunned and feared since the Oblivion Crisis, so most Nords avoided it. Not my father though. He was a well-trained Nord Mage practiced in the schools of Destruction and Alteration, but during that battle at Solitude he was being out matched my too many enemy elves. He had used his strongest Battle Cry causing some of them to recoil enough so he could kill them. He was on a furious rampage killing every Thalmor within five feet of him. But he couldn't defend from every spell cast at him. Though he was protected by a powerful "Ironflesh" Alteration spell which shielded him from physical weapons, he was unprotected from magic itself. A few Thalmor Wizards cast powerful Illusion spells causing him to fight against his own men. The Imperial Legions had no choice but to stop his madness. Archers were stringing their arrows, but the elves killed them all with their own. My father was the only one left. The spell that caused him to fight and kill his own men had worn off, and so did his Ironflesh spell. His Magicka had depleted, and his weapons melted from the heat of Destruction magic Flames. That was when the Thalmor took their chance. They hit him with arrows and Destruction magic. He was dead before he hit the ground. At least that is what an Imperial Officer Survivor had told me and my mother. Father had ordered us to flee from Solitude while we still had the chance before the Thalmor arrived. I wanted to stay and fight with father who knew I could, but I was only fifteen. My mother and I fled to Morthal where other families of soldiers could watch. We watched as Solitude burned. I though I could hear my father's Battle Cry. It wasn't until the next morning when a few Imperial Officers came to Morthal to give the devastating news to the refugee families, including myself, my mother, and my thirteen year old sister Shara. When we heard what had happened to my father, I blacked out. When I came to, they said that I had gone berserk in my rage and grief about father, and had to be restrained. I came to in a bed at the tavern. My Mother and Sister were there with me as was an Imperial Officer who explained to me that I was in charge of my family now. He ordered us to travel to the City of Windhelm. He also informed us that because of the service of my father, we would receive Imperial escort.


On the way to Windhelm however, we were ambushed by a number of bandits camped near Fort Dunstad. They were after the wealth we inherited from our clan. Our Imperial escort managed to fight them off, but most of them had been killed. My mother was badly wounded from an arrow. The remaining 2 Imperial Soldiers were able to help her enough for us all to make it to the Nightgate Inn. It was there that she died after telling me to stay strong and brave, and to take care of my sister. All of this was almost too much for me, but I managed to keep calm. I promised mother I would stay strong, and take care of Shara. The 2 Imperial Soldiers told us that we would now have to take a very long journey to Riften where we would live at the Honorhall Orphanage. I had heard about that place. I was supposedly run by a horrible old woman the citizens of Riften took to calling Grelod the "Kind." I accepted this rather than complain; what good would that do? We first made it to Windhelm where we rested for a few days before finally taking the journey to Riften. We gave mother a proper Nordic burial with the help of a Priest of Arkay. Afterwards, we prepared for the trip to Riften. This time we had more protection, and we arrived in Riften after a couple long days.


While living at the Orphanage, I made new friends and protected them along with my Sister from Grelod. I was of course one of the oldest of the small number of children living there. After my coming-of-age at sixteen, Grelod tried to kick me out, but I knew she was afraid of me. I persuaded her to let me stay for two more years with my Sister Shara by showing her the flames in my hand. Grelod gave up in the end, but made me work double the chores. I didn't care. The next two years passed by quickly. Shara and I said our goodbyes to our friends at the Orphanage, and began our very long journey to return to our home in Solitude which had been kept and protected for us. We were the proper owners now. After the days long trip, we were finally home once again. We both, now being of age, found work.


I joined the Legion, and Shara, who gave our inherited wealth to charities, decided to become a Blacksmith forging weapons and armor for the Soldiers and myself. After a year passed, everyone heard that the Great War had been ended by the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, which forced the ban on the worship of Talos, the Ninth Divine. Countless Nords all over Skyrim, including my sister and I, were outraged at this cowardly move by the Emperor. Many more of the Imperial Soldiers of Solitude who were Nords left Solitude due to the strict Empire loving rule of Torygg, the High King of Skyrim. It wasn't long before many Nords across Skyrim began to mysteriously disappear. Everyone knew it was the Thalmor with the Aldmeri Dominion who was kidnapping Nords who continued to worship Talos or questioned their doctrines or beliefs. My sister and I continued to pray to Talos well aware of the possibility of either being kidnapped or arrested by the damn faithless Imperials. That day eventually came. I awoke from my sleep one night from the sound of screaming. I grabbed a dagger and ran to where it was coming from. The Thalmor were taking away my sister! I charged to stop them with my flames, but a Thalmor Wizard knew I would try. He blocked my attack easily with a strong ward spell. Then I was knocked unconscious. My sister and I had been taken!


I regained consciousness while they were taking us to where every it was they took Nords. This was my chance. I seized a Thalmor Warrior's sword taking him by surprise then cut off his head. I then cast my Oakflesh spell to protect from their weapons. The Thalmor Wizard tried to strike me with a Lightning Bolt spell, but I quickly dodged it and hurled my sword at him. He couldn't react in time; the sword struck him horizontally in the neck. He fell dead as the blood gushed from the wound. Another Thalmor Soldier tried to slash at me from behind, but I dove forward. The Thalmor did give me a cut, but I concealed the pain and let loose my flames at his head. With a cry of pain, he was dead. There were only 2 Thalmor left. They flanked me by each getting on opposite sides of me. I tried to hit them with each of my flame spells, but they blocked the spells with their wards. Then they charged at me swords raised. I waited 'till they were close enough that they couldn't stop, then I dove out of the way. They both accidentally injured one another. I proceeded to finish them off. I kicked them both to the ground and impaled them with the dagger they took from me. I almost collapsed from exhaustion, but got myself up to find Shara. She was nowhere in sight. They had separated us! It was then that I finally uttered my Battle Cry. It was as strong and my father's. I fled from Skyrim to the outskirts of Cyrodill after that event.


Four years have passed since then. During those 4 years, I used my hunting, and survival skills to stay alive alone. I had recently decided to return to Skyrim for a second chance at life, or more likely to join the Nord Rebellion I'd heard about. Skyrim was now in civil war between Nords and Imperials. The Nords were fighting for their right to live and worship Talos, and to defeat the faithless Empire in Skyrim. They believed that Skyrim belonged only to true Nords, and the Imperials believed Skyrim belonged to the Empire after the Treaty of the White-Gold Concordat. They thought the Nord rebels were no more than traitors to their rule and beliefs. It was only a few days ago when I tried to cross the border between Skyrim and Cyrodill. It was near Darkwater Crossing that I had been captured by Imperial Soldiers along with other Rebels who were called "Stormcloaks." The damn Imperial fools mistook me for another rebel and so I was captured as well. Later they loaded us all up on prisoner's carriages to take us somewhere.


That is where I am now; riding a prison carriage to gods know where. By the Nine! Could my damn life get any worse?!


At last! My first story begins! I was inspired to write by my friend AlphaTheGriffin17. He has written many good stories including some Skyrim stories following his Dragonborn. I'm doing the same, and I really hope my readers enjoyed this prologue. Coming next, The Terror At Helgen!

See you again soon!

- Darkvahkiin.