2 The Carriage Ride and Being Sent To Beheading

All the years I spent in the wild. All those years of fighting, of killing...of surviving. The time I met the old man, Oskar, who took me in and gave me his last name, Iron-Born, while also naming me Markus. How Oskar taught me every weapon, from all the lands. From bows, to daggers, to warhammers.

Everything was coming back to me.

I remember the old man passing away when he taught me everything he could, his last wish being that I do what ever Weapon Master should do:

Adventure. To make a tale for myself. But most of all, to enjoy my life.

I remember my adventures, the thrill of fighting monsters that plagued villages, even entire cities. Going for mead and wooing women after a big battle was what I lived for, for so long.

Then I heard rumors of a civil-war breaking out in Skyrim, when I was traveling around Hammerfell, challenging Orcs and Redguards to brawls. I decided that I should try and get involved with the war because anything to do with the Thalmor would usually end up in a massive fucking brawl with every man, woman, and mer fighting for themselves and themselves only.

My blood had boiled at the thought.

And knowing that I was in a land of such adventure--a land where the Dragons, mythical beasts of old, were going to make a return. My blood burned even fiercer. Knowing one was about to come and crash my execution made me both thankful, and excited. The thought of being next to such a beast...well, my Dremora blood was raging inside of me, wanting me to kill and tear everything around me.

All of these new emotions and feelings...they were quite confusing. It made me think that I didn't really know what I was doing when I made my character Half-Nord and Half-Dremora.

All the new instincts. The new things I could feel in my body. Most of all, the unholy power I could feel flowing through me.

Looking down, I saw that unlike the others, I wasn't restrained with just leather bounds, but rather iron manacles that barely fit around my thick forearms. In addition to these, I had the same leather bounds as the others, but much thicker, showing me that there was more leather wrapped around my wrists.

Even then, I felt like given the time, I could snap these restraints. That's the power I held in my body. I felt straight up inhuman. Which I guess a part of me was. It was an odd thing to think about but my new confidence and calm quickly flowed in and kept me rational.

With the foundation of my shaken psyche, stabilized, I heard the blond, speaking to me again, "You okay there, friend? For such a big Nord, you're a bit quiet," he asked with a laugh, probably to suppress his own panic at the situation, so I just smiled back, chuckling.

"I'm just thinking about what's about to happen, friend, no need to worry about me," I said, momentarily surprised with my own voice and it's deep, smoothness. Unlike traditional Nords who grew up in Skyrim, I grew up away from people and the person who taught me to talk was a Redguard who lived in Cyrodiil, so I had a much more neutral accent.

This accent caused the blond to raise his eyebrow at me, "Not from around here, are you? I thought you were a Nord trying to get back home from Hammerfell but I guess I was wrong," he said, musing to himself.

Deciding to humor him, I gave a nod, "You're right; I wasn't born in Skyrim. I was born somewhere between Cyrodiil and Hammerfell. Grew up around there as well," I said before leaning back.

Just as the blond was about to reply, the Imperial steering the horses at the front, turned his head and spat out a shout, "Keep it quiet before I come back there and tie up your mouths like dear ol' Ulfric there!" with that said, he turned back and took his remaining anger out on the horses, whipping the reigns up and down extra hard.

"Ul-Ulfric...As in Ulfric Stormcloak?!" the thief, who I knew as Lokir from the game, stuttered out as he jittered away from the man with a bound mouth, "B-but if...if they've captured you...oh god, where are we going?!"

His fear made him forget the threat the Imperial just said to us but he seemed to be a milk-drinker who was all bark and no bite, so he just grit his teeth as the blond gave him a reply as he sighed, "I don't know exactly where we're going...but Sovngarde awaits us," he said, turning to me seemingly to make sure I knew I was also a part of that 'us' he mentioned.

Sadly for him, none of us will be entering the grand halls today.

The horse thief, Lokir, continued to freak out, counting off the Divines for help, though leaving Talos out of it - must have thought that could get him some clout with the Imperial guarding us. It didn't do a thing, but I'll give the man an A for effort, at least.

The blond, who was obviously Ralof, continued to talk to Lokir, while I just lay back and kept my eyes closed before I realized one big question:

Where's the Dragonborn? He should be sitting exactly where I am, right? Then why am I...here...Oh divines, I'm the bloody Dragonborn, aren't I?

Meanwhile, outside of my thoughts, Lokir was hyperventilating, "No," he whispered before pulling at his bindings for all his worth, "No! This can't be happening!" he pulled at his leather bindings until he went red in the face before he gave up and went limp like a noodle, all his strength and energy seeming to leave his body. Feeling the need to shut him up before the milk-drinker guiding the horses actually fulfills his threat, I turned to Lokir and spoke out a line Ralof was supposed to say.

"What village are you from, Horse thief?" I asked and the dark-haired Nord looked at me with vicious eyes, obviously wanting to take out his indignation on someone else.

"What's it matter to you?" he spat out and I just shrugged in reply.

"I feel a persons last thoughts should be of home. Though I doubt these will be our last thoughts, honestly," I said, smirking at what was about to happen.

Ulfric, the man with his mouth gagged, turned and looked at me with a raised eyebrow, just like Ralof, who spoke for the two of them, "What do you mean? You got some friends coming to get you? Because if so, you shouldn't have said that. The milk-drinker over there heard everything and will probably tell his superiors when we get to wherever they're taking us," he said with a smile, thinking I was joking.

Again, I just shrugged before closing my eyes, "I haven't got anything fancy like that. Just got a hunch that this execution won't go as planned."

Snorting, the Imperial shook his head as he spoke to himself, "And people like to think Nord aren't stupid," he said before whipping the reigns again.

I ignored him as I thought through what I'd do when the Dragon appeared. I technically didn't need to follow either Ralof or Hadvar - I knew where I needed to go. Whiterun. Take news of the Dragon to the Jarl and request reinforcements for Riverwood. Easy way to get some clout but I'll still follow one of them.

Why? So I can have some connections to people in this land. Doesn't hurt to know people, after all, and honestly...I want to have some friends, you know? People I can go for a drink with and chat with. I've traveled alone for so long that it's kinda getting boring. Why not mix it up and make a good ol' fashioned adventurer party?

After all, this isn't a game. So I should be able to have as many followers as I want.

As I was thinking about who to follow, I felt the carriage shake heavily as the horses started to play up, "Woah there," the Imperial said before the carriage started to come to a stop. Seems I was so spaced out I missed out on Ralof throwing some shade at the Empire and General Tullius.

"Why...why are we stopping?" Lokir got out and Ralof practically rolled his eyes at the dark-haired Nord.

"Why do you think?" he rhetorically asked before scoffing at Lokir's lack of common sense, "It's the end of the line, of course," the carriage came to a complete stop next to another carriage filled to the brim with Stormcloaks. Slowly, Ulfric stood up, followed by Ralof, who spoke up again, "Shouldn't keep the gods waiting, should we?"

Looking around, I stood up as I saw the dozens of Imperials lining the walls of Helgen. Much more than in the game. There were more people watching the execution as well. At least 20 people who weren't Imperials were standing around.

...I guess this is the most tangible proof that this isn't a game, huh? No way a computer could run this many character models without lagging to high shit. Especially with 'graphics' as good as this.

As we were brought off the carts, I stretched my legs and did a few movements that warmed up my body - I'd have to do a bit of moving in a bit, after all. But as I did these movements, I was further stunned by how strong my body felt, yet also the control I had over it and the flexibility that came with it. It was weird. One part of me had gotten used to this power, but another part of me was completely awed to the 'foreign' power. Again, it was weird.

As we got off the carriage, Lokir was continuing to freak out but the Imperial Captain in front of us, a tall and athletic Redguard woman decked out in heavy Imperial armor, ignored him and brought out a list, handing it off to the Imperial soldier next to her; Hadvar.

"Step toward the block when we call your name," the Captain called, her voice echoing through the courtyard we were in. All the Stormcloaks gathered, holding their heads high, and seeing them step forward as one, the Captain gave another shout, "One at a time!"

Seeing this many Stormcloaks together, the Imperial archers lining the walls nocked an arrow, waiting for a Stormcloak to step a single inch out of line.

Hadvar rolled open the list and Ralof scoffed at him, "Empire loves their damned lists," he said before spitting at the ground toward Hadvar's feet. Hadvar ignored him for the most part and just read from the list.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm. Step toward the block."

Ralof, out of nowhere stepped forward and banged his chest with his bound hands, "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," shouting out with a thunderous voice, filled with fanatic fervor that was soon spread to the other Stormcloaks, who followed his actions and roared their support for Ulfric. Ulfric himself looked back with thankful eyes at the Stormcloaks he'd had with him before walking to the block and standing next to it.

"Ralof of Riverwood," Hadvar said with a slightly stuttered voice, like he was shocked to see Ralof here, like he knew him. Which he did, they both grew up together in Riverwood. But he carried on and called out the dark-haired Nord next to me, "Lokir of Rorikstead."

Calling out his name seemed to make the situation too real as Lokir started to freak out, "No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this--!" he went to run but I grabbed his shoulder and held him in place.

"Calm down. Don't you see how many Archers there are? They'll shoot you down before you even make it 10 yards," I said and he went to refute me but a quick look around showed him that I was right; he'd die within a few seconds. Even with less archers around, I knew he'd die. He dies in the game, after all, and with more archers I'm even more sure of that outcome.

Why not save his life while I'm here, right?

With that, I pushed him toward the block and Ralof followed him. Once he got to this part of the list, Hadvar looked up before looking down at his list with a confused face before looking back up at me and then counting the Stormcloaks currently here.

Once he'd done so, he turned back to me and motioned me forward with a hand, "You there, step forward. Who are you?" he asked.

"Markus Iron-Born," I said and his brows scrunched up before he looked me over.

"You picked a bad time to come to Skyrim, kinsman," he said before turning to the Captain, "What should we do? He's not on the list," he said with an awkward expression but the Captain's steely face didn't change.

"Forget the list. He goes to the block," she said and Hadvar looked back at me with an apologetic look while speaking to the Captain.

"By your orders, captain," he said before motioning for me to go to the block, "I'm sorry. We'll have you buried in Skyrim, kinsman. To the block then, prisoner," he finished with a guilty look to his face.

I followed the order without much hassle and walked over to the others and waited while Hadvar went through the rest of the list, more and more Stormcloaks coming over and standing next to the block.

While we were waiting, a shorter than average man came over to us, dressed in fancy armor that reminded me of high-ranking Roman official armor. But I also knew it as high-ranking Empire armor. The man might have been shorter than most of the Nords here but he was still incredibly well-muscled and had a broad frame that looked slightly odd with his short-ish height.

He had white hair and a slightly wrinkled face, showing of his age. His hawk nose and general facial features told me that he was an Imperial. Though I already knew that. He's General Tullius, after all.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," Tullius said, his voice full of smugness as he carried on, "Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne, no does he?" he asked and Ulfric, still being gagged, could only grunt in protest. Even then, Tullius carried on, "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

As he said this a distant roar echoed down the mountains next to Helgen.

So, Alduin still on his way, huh? Good to know. At least now I don't have to break out with my own plan.