Stalwart, Story of Henrik Options

[Lord Veneficus]

Stalwart

Chapter One


Henrik ran a gloved hand through his grey speckled beard, bouncing roughly on the small cart loaded down with various ores. The horse tethered to the rickety old cart whinnied with dissatisfaction as the fatigue of pulling the cart began to take hold. “I know, Ida, I know. Just a bit further and we’ll stop to take a break, old girl,” he said, gently patting the horse’s side.

The breeze whistled through mighty trees along the road, leaves dancing about on the hard packed dirt. Henrik took a deep breath of the cool air and began to contemplate his next piece of work. He was a tremendously talented smith and would not be privy to tell anyone of that fact. His weapons had gained him a decent bit of fame around Whiterun Hold. Henrik’s thoughts were abruptly shaken as he heard a rustling that came from no breeze. “Whoa, whoa,” he whispered to Ida.

The cart came to slow stop and Ida quickly became restless as the noises persisted. By the Gods, I’d prefer not to fend off any bandits. Just as quickly as the thought passed through his mind, an arrow pierced the air and struck his beloved horse in her right haunch. Ida reared violently and exploded into a gallop, throwing Henrik backwards. His heavy, muscular body hit the ground with great force and loud pop resonated into the air. Henrik grunted in pain and stumbled to his feet, arm jolting with pain.

“NOW!” A gruff voice yelled and a cacophony of unsheathing blades rung out. Henrik pulled his blade as well but was quickly disarmed as he was wrestled to the ground by two Altmeri soldiers clad head to toe in Elven armor. Henrik knew what would come next and grasped for his Talos amulet, blood boiling with rage.

They carried on a short conversation in Elvish and their leader, crouched to pat Henrik’s body down. Henrik immediately recognized the mer as Valdemar, a captain of a Thalmori checkpoint to the east of Whiterun. Valdemar eventually made it to his upper torso, his fingers running along the amulet. “What is this, Henrik?” He asked as he yanked the amulet from Henrik’s neck.

“Don’t play stupid, you twit,” Henrik spat and Valdemar brought his fist violently into his face, stood, and began speaking Elvish. The only bit that Henrik could understand was mention of Helgen. Thank the Nine.

The elf turned to Henrik and slung his booted foot into the side of Henrik’s head. Blood trickled through his hair as Henrik slowly lost consciousness.

[Lord Veneficus]

Chapter Three

“Off the wagon, you trolls!” Shouted a skinny Cyrod woman, banging her blindingly shining sword against her shield. Henrik stood and looked into the sky, several dark clouds rolling over the mountain tops. Odd, there were no signs of a storm this morning. Then, a strange dark blot darted from the peak of one of the lesser mountains and into the clouds. Henrik blinked several times and concluded it must have been a large bird.

He stepped down from the wagon and saw Valdemar in the distance, a disgustingly grim smirk stretched across his face. Blasted knife-ear. He’ll get his dues. Henrik threw an incomparably profane gesture towards Valdemar and spit on the dirt. Another legionnaire, seeing this, cracked him in the back of the leg with a wooden club and sent Henrik to his knees. “We’ll have none of that,” he said. Valdemar continued his frosty smile as they all lined up behind one another.

The call of names began, each of the Stormcloaks pushed into the line for the headsman’s axe. Time seemed to slow down as the auburn haired legionnaire made his way down the list, Henrik’s heart slowing with each passing syllable.

The legionnaire eventually made his way down to Henrik’s cart, eyeing the four of them with contempt. “Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm, you have been found guilty of treason against the Empire and will be put to death by headsman’s axe,” he said as two soldiers dragged a loudly grunting Ulfric to the block.

“Ralof of Riverwood, you have been found guilty of treason against the Empire. You will be executed by way of decapitation. Anything you would like to say?” The legionnaire words began to thicken with sorrow and Henrik could see the sadness in his eyes. Ralof looked towards the legionnaire and smiled lightly.

“I’ve brought honor to my ancestors, Hadvar. Being part of this won’t get you a place in Sovngarde, old friend,” Ralof said. The legionnaire called Hadvar simply nodded, marked Ralof’s name from the list, and moved to the next name.

“Henrik of Whiterun, you have been found guilty of Talos worship and will be executed by way of decapitation,” Hadvar paused, visibly disgusted at the charge. “Any last words?” Henrik shook his head and walked towards the blood covered block, eyes of the young and old upon his back.

As he took his place in line, a rumble echoed across the sky and the blackened clouds released the rain. It was a downpour, thunder clapping and lightning striking nearby trees. Then, Henrik saw the same dark blot speed by, too large to be a bird. Can’t be what I think it is. But could the legends be true? He saw his fellow prisoners and the legionnaires, as well, with their heads to the sky.

Henrik leaned in to Ralof’s ear and said, “This isn’t a natural storm, lad. I have a feeling this will become ugly fast.” Before he could get a response from Ralof, Henrik was grabbed by a legionnaire and dragged to the block.

As the headsman prepared his axe, the priestess pulled her hood over her head and began her prayer, “As we commend your souls to Aetheri--” She was interrupted as another roar cracked through the air and the clouds parted to reveal a monstrous, black-winged creature. The fabled creature of legend: the dragon.

It landed upon the battlements of the main tower and swept its jagged scaled wing through the archers surrounding it. They all shrieked as they fell from the tower, flailing helplessly in the wind. Its mouth opened to shortly reveal its long, blade-like teeth behind a wall of flame rushing towards the ground. Not many had the time to dodge the fire and several were burned to ashes.

Henrik soon found himself in the mud, being pulled to his feet by Ralof. “We have to move!” He shouted over the chaos as the Hadvar fellow hobbled towards them, gripping his profusely bleeding arm.

“There’s a tunnel,” Hadvar gasped, “under the barracks.” Henrik threw Hadvar’s arm around his neck and began moving towards the barracks, barely missing each rogue blast of lightning and fire.

The three of them had to maneuver through the flaming ruins of former businesses and homes in order to keep out of the dragon’s line of sight. Many civilians lay crumpled under heaps of burning wood and thatch or impaled by shards of flaming wood, all screaming in agony. Much to his distress Henrik could not have helped if he wanted, for the risk being seen by the creature flying above.

As they drew nearer to the barracks, the twang of bows rang out among the crackling of wood, the heavy rain, and screams of insurmountable suffering. Spells sprung from fingertips towards the sky, some hitting the beast and shouts of dismay following behind after realizing they did nothing.

“Through the door!” Hadvar screamed as the group inched toward the soldiers’ quarters.

They burst through the heavy wooden door and when he made sure there were no hostiles, Henrik paused for a moment. “We can’t wait! Keep moving!” Ralof shouted.

“Just need to take a quick breather, lad,” Henrik huffed, helping a now unconscious Hadvar to a chair nearby. “Carrying an injured man across a town takes a lot out of you. Speaking of that, help me find some bandages.”

Before Henrik could move, two legionnaires rushed through the door with their swords drawn. “Oi!” One of them shouted as they surrounded Henrik and Ralof. With no way to defend himself, Henrik simply closed his eyes and prayed the end would come quick.