The Saga of the Dragonborn, Harken all unto this tale! Options

[Colonel Mustard]

Hail, all ye fine folk of Chorrol!

I've been reading around a good deal of epic poems lately, and I've decided to try penning one of my own. With Skyrim fitting the bill for a classic Icelandic saga quite perfectly, I thought I'd give transcribing the events of one of my favourite games to the parchment digital.

For clarification, I'm basically treating this as a bit of Stormcloak propaganda; it makes the similes and epithets and so forth easier to write for some reason, and gives me leeway to have things a bit more hyperbolic and generally epic. On such a note, before anyone complains that the Dragonborn is overpowered then I must counter that by saying that this the point; he's an epic hero and those guys are hardcore (plus, y'know, propaganda. Bigging him up and all that). I mean seriously, go read Beowulf; that guy's a badas$. So I've got standards to maintain.

Anyway, that's all. Sit back, relax, and enjoy what is, as far as I know (which isn't much), the only piece of epic fan-poetry in existence.

Verily!

The Saga of the Dragonborn
(or; "What happens when Colonel Mustard reads more Beowulf than is good for him")


PART I

Harken ye, one and all, to the tale of the Dragonborn,

drake-bane, horn-helmed hero of prowess unmatchable

saviour of Skyrim and winner of honour unending!

Mighty Talos, bear witness unto me as such deeds are scribed,

thy wisdom and learning lend unto this humble scholar,

that thou might be exalted through texts such as this,

and thy favoured champion's fame grow with each word ascribed

and through such tales, tell of how Skyrim was freed,

how the Black Drake was vanquished, the Thalmor undone,

the traitorous dead put to an end and bid to rise no more.

Instruct me thus, that I might capture thy glories

and through these words, tell of the Dovahkiin

in tale the likes of which hath not been before seen.

In ropes was he brought unto the realm of Skyrim,

mountain-bound, snowclad home of hardy Nordfolk,

borne by cart and colt to the fane of Helgen

for crimes not recorded by scribes of the Empire

alongside Ulfric, Windhelm-Jarl and warrior bold,

battleking true of all Skyrim, sword of the Stormcloaks,

laid low by treachery most foul from craven Imperials.

Too fearful of him were they to face him in battle bold;

lurking in ambush with plot to lay him low,

the Thalmor-slaves struck with stealth and valiant though

the Stormcloaks were, and with courage did they fight,

such cowardice saw them undone; Ulfric brave was bound

to Helgen, to lie 'pon the block of the headsman.

Gagged was he, Imperials fearful of great Stormcloak's might,

the call of the Thu'um, magic ancient and mighty

wielded once by drake and man alike, that he did use

to beat the false boy-king Torygg in a duel most honourable

and now saw him suffer persecution unjust

for standing 'gainst the foul Thalmor that ruled man.

With him was Ralof, doughty bairn of Gerdur and Hod

and brave son of Skyrim, Stormcloak true, valiant defender

of her people and bounds, rightful land of Nords taken

by Elves most foul and treacherous in their ways.

By him did sit Lokir, thief of horses and craven weak,

lacking in courage he did flee his end, like not

the Doom of Alduin, the son of Hod, or Ulfric,

courageous and true lord of Nords that he was.

And betwixt the bairn of Hod and Gerdur and

Lokir thief-of-horses did sit the Dragonborn,

bane of wyrms most foul, saviour of all men,

slayer of Thalmor and draugr, champion favoured

of the Princes of Oblivion and beloved of the Nine.

Belike in stature to the great Eldergleam was he,

unshakeable as the stone roots of the World's Throat,

mightier than the largest of the bjorn; 'tis said that

his size was more belike that of giants than that of men,

that his strength was such that steel did bend in his palm

and the strongest oak was but splinters when broke by him.

The folk of the land did hail this hearty hero wherever

he did go, awed as they were that such a man might walk

amongst mere mortals such as they, strong, just and wise as he was,

belike more to Ysgramor, Talos or Dagon's Ender in aspect

than to mortal menfolk; 'tis said that many did fall faint

when in his presence, struck dumb by so valiant and great

a soul who would walk among them, the great drake-doom

who brought Skyrim to liberty and slew Alduin world-bane.

So it was that these souls worthy and great were bound

for Helgen, to face execution most unjust at hands

of Thalmor-thralls and foul elf-kin, scum most treacherous

and craven in their ways; but fate and valour did see

that in all things the Dragonborn would have triumph

and doing so be nought but the greatest of all man's heroes

just, mighty, and wise, slayer of many and saviour of Nirn;

lo, Talos did take watch over and favour this great soul,

Alduin-doom, mightiest of men and hero true!

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Apr 7 2012, 01:56 PM

[Colonel Mustard]

Malx/Axadian: Thank ye kindly both of ye!

*Doth boweth*

McBadgere: Mine eyes! They do bleed!

I kid; thank you.

And now for some epic similes; awww, yayeh!

PART II

To Helgen-fane were they brought, companions bold

fated to face the headsman's edge and pass unto

the realms of Sovngarde and the Halls of Shor,

where they might feast forever with warriors great.

Just the of one broke, Lokir Thief-of-Horse fled

his doom to be slain by bowmen, arrows flying straight

and true to pierce his back and see him undone.

Imperials then did call forth their prisoner first,

a warrior courageous and Stormcloak true,

who did face death with bravery and strength

and when the axe did fall let out no cry, not one

of terror or cowardice and it is true indeed

that he doth rest now in the realm of Sovngarde,

alongside all other brave warriors that doth fight

'gainst those that seek to see Skyrim suffer

'neath the yoke of elves or drakes or tyrants other.

To headsman's block went next the Dovahkiin

and brave was he; true Skyrim-son, unflinching

did he face his fate, yielding not to fear or fright.

'Tis said that as he did lay head 'pon block,

he did see a sight most dreadful and foul,

one 'nough to put men lesser to flight;

from the skies came it, borne aloft by wings

the span of which was belike the height

of the Tower of White Gold where Emperors once

did council and govern afore Thalmor-foul saw

them toppled. With each beat of these pinions huge

was a wind called forth to bear him in the air,

a gale of such power that the mightiest pines

would be toppled, roots laid bare to the elements harsh,

and houses built 'pon foundations of granite strong

would have their eaves and girders shaken most rough

only to fall belike a sapling, in face of such airs

finding themselves bereft of strength to withstand

power so foul. Feathered not were these wings,

clad instead by scales unyielding as Skyforge steel,

uncaring for piercing of arrows or bite of blades,

crushing of maces and hewing of axe-heads,

armoured in hide spined and spiked, dark in colour

yet shining like steel fresh-forged and polished well,

so that the sun did strike and glare from it

forcing all who looked 'pon its dreadful aspect

to cover their eyes lest they be made blind.

Atop the towers of Helgen did he alight, talons

blade-sharp cutting stone crown asunder,

and 'pon the hapless township did he glare

almighty and enraged; thus came Alduin,

drake foul, monster belike none other,

world-ender and fiend most fearsome,

bane of many, enslaver of Nords, wyrm-king

terrible and dreadful, malice primordial given form.

With Thu'um spake he, breathing 'pon Helgen flame

the heat of which was greater than that which ravages

parched Elsweyr in height of summers scorching;

all that was touched by its tongues was put to torch

and blazed without check put 'pon it by any.

Struck dumb were the folk of Helgen all,

and terror uncontrollable did freeze many in place

as they looked 'pon Alduin, dread incarnate and

ender of time, the black drake's form so terrible

that the courage of all but the bravest did fail

in face of a fiend so monstrous and mighty.

Like locusts 'pon crops fresh did chaos descend,

fear scattering townfolk like leaves afore wind

and sending them searching for sanctuary of

any kind that might shield them from foul Alduin's

flame. Soldiers and mages did ready themselves,

sallying to drive away drake most-wicked,

yet spell and arrow alike could pierce not his hide

and he did descend 'pon them and rend them asunder

with claw and flame, his jaw, the span of a house

and filled with fangs akin to broadswords,

opening wide to swallow soldiers whole, and

with but one gulp, send them down into the darkness

of his stomach vast, to be seen never once more.

Through chaos and disarray most disordered

did the Dovahkiin go, hands bound still as he did

escape the block of the headsman. Mistake this not

for cowardice craven, for mighty as was he

his hands could not lift blade or shield, constricted

as they were by hempen rope, and thus it was not

possible for him to take arms against the drake

most foul; in his wisdom, he saw such a battle

would be bereft of fruit, an end most ignoble;

to die as a fool is surely an end no more worthy

of Sovngarde and Shor's halls than dying as a

craven is. And so it was that the Dragonborn

did seek refuge behind walls of stone strong,

in Helgen's keep 'longside bairn of Hod and Gerdir.

There his bonds were cut, his hands free again

so together drake-bane and Stormcloak might go

to bring word to Skyrim of events most dire;

the return of the world-eater, Alduin foul!

This post has been edited by Colonel Mustard: Apr 7 2012, 01:54 PM