Sons of the Snow, A Skyrim Tale Options

[Rohirrim]

Chapter One: A Dawn in Fire
24th Frostfall, 4E 194, 8 Bells after Noon
Mandel Skjori, 18

He was sitting on his bed when it happened. His brother, Klargus, and his sister, Svelki, were with him. Their parents were outside, getting all the livestock in for the night. He and his siblings were talking about the weather, worried it might mean an early winter. Deep in the Pale, early winter was a grave matter. Even so, the conversation was lighthearted. They knew that come death or daedra, the divines would provide. They always did. Even after the great Skeever-Plague of 187, when half their stock was killed, the animals were breeding prolifically that spring. It was then that they heard it: the dull thud of hooves on snow. A moment later they heard shouting, and the terrified lowing of cattle. All three siblings rushed to the door, throwing it open. Mandel was the first to see them.

Riders, fast ones, with fire in their hands. They hurled torches at the roof of the house, setting it ablaze. The packed mixture of dung and straw was almost cruelly perfect for such a task. It caught almost instantly, and the flames were at least half the height of the house. He could see, when he forced himself to turn away, others driving away their cattle, setting fire to the chicken coop, even the mill. Mandel saw his father stumble through the snow, out of the darkness, pulling his mother behind him. His face was a mask of rage, his brow contorted in an inhuman anger, and he did something Mandel had never seen him do. He knew his father had the Battlecry, all Nords did, but he never thought he would use it. His father was a man of peace, a farmer and a devout follower of the teachings of Kyne. Some of the horses threw their riders, but the rest were almost unfazed.

Laughter, loud and cruel, erupted from the ranks of the horsemen. Mandel was almost ready to charge at them, no matter how suicidal, when suddenly, an arrow came whizzing out of the dark and struck his mother in the chest. His father, now mad with an emotion that defied description, a combination of anger and deep, deep sorrow, ran at the horsemen. Before he could do anything, though, a man who looked to be their leader rode forward and struck Mandel's father in the face with his sword. He was dead before he hit the ground. He had to be. The way he fell, it was final. Mandel felt this in his being, not knowing where the knowledge came from. All he knew was that he had to get what remained of his family away from here, away from these men. "Run!" He grabbed his siblings by their sleeves and pulled them with him, running like a wounded deer being chased.

And yet, chased he was not. When several of the riders made ready to pursue them, the leader held up his hand. "Let them go," he said, in a voice that spoke not of any race or heritage. Plain, unaccented Cyrodiilic. It was almost so perfect as to be unnerving. "I have plans for them, when the time comes. Let us leave, this cold is unbearable." He and his men rode away, away into the blackness of the autumn night.

Mandel was over the hill that surrounded his family's home when he heard an ear-splitting noise, like the noise a flag makes in the wind, only much, much louder. With this sound came a light, a blinding orange flash that shifted to a subtle glow. Mandel looked back towards the place he had called home, known since birth, and saw only destruction. He realized what had happened. The sacks of flour in the mill had exploded, as well as the many minuscule bits of flour and chaff on the cracks between the stones that the mill was built on.

He cried as he looked on, knowing that there was nothing left of his old life. He knew that for him, and his family, life was about to start anew. Klargus looked at him, his sweet blue eyes now widened in fear. Klargus was youngest, 16, and was both the largest and gentlest of the three. "What are we going to do, Mandel?" Svelki looked to him as well. She was the middle child, 17, and she had followed in the steps of her mother, learning basic Conjuration and Restoration spells. "I know that it is unfair, looking to you for guidance, when you must feel the same way we do, but we don't have anyone else to turn to. We trust you, Mandel. We will follow you, to the gates of Oblivion if we must." Mandel looked at his brother and sister, his tears drying on his face. "I'll tell you what we are going to do. We're going to find somewhere to sleep, and then we're going to retrieve what we can from home in the morning." All three dug themselves a hollow in the snow, and curled up, each using their cloak as a blanket. Mandel lay awake for hours. He may not have known it, but that fire would fuel his thirst for justice, and it would make him into the man he was inside: Dovahkiin.

This post has been edited by Rohirrim: Sep 14 2013, 03:39 AM

[Rohirrim]

25th Frostfall, 4E 194, 7 of the Morning Watch
Mandel
He was the last awake. He could see Klargus and Svelki off in the distance by what remained of the farm. Standing up, he winced. His joints were quite stiff from the night spent on the hard ground, and his fingers and toes were almost completely numb. He pulled his cloak around him, finding comfort in the familiar cowhide folds. he set off down the hill, carefully so as not to slip on the slick snow. He eventually made it over to Klargus, grabbing his shoulder for balance, his feet sliding all about in the cold slush. His brother grabbed him by the waist, steadying him. It always surprised him how Klargus was so strong and yet so gentle. Mandel had seen him suffer Skeever bites while carrying the wretch outside rather than let his father kill it. He soon could stand on his own, and Klargus released him.

He saw Svelki on one knee, feeling the charred wooden beams of the house. "There was magic involved, Mandel. Those were no ordinary men. I am not Savos Aren, but I can tell that no log this size would have burnt so fast and so hot. It's been reduced to basic charcoal and dust, too fine a separation for a normal fire. The men who killed our parents had to have been soldiers of some sort, or very wealthy mercenaries." Mandel absorbed this information silently. He was not sure of Svelki's magical prowess, but he agreed on the fact that the men had definitely not been common raiders. "Have you checked the cellar?" The house had burnt down to its stone foundations, only anything in the cellar could have survived. "No, we waited for you." Mandel sighed a long sigh. "Well, nothing for it, let's go." It was strange to see the cellar in direct sunlight, unlit by torch or candle. Everything was sharper, more clear. They began rummaging through crates, looking for anything of use. They could mourn later. Now, they needed to survive.

Mandel walked to the back corner immediately. He knew what he was looking for. There it was: his Da's militia gear. It was a maille coat under a pale blue surcoat with the Star of the Pale emblazoned on it. It came with a helm, a rough steel kettle hat, and a set of boots, fine sealskin. The shield was simple, boards encircled in a metal ring. He wondered momentarily where the rest was, then he remembered. Of course. Da always kept the sword next to his bed, and the gloves with it. he dashed to the ground floor and looked around. He knew the gloves must have burnt away, but the sword... There! He reached for the handle, then recoiled so fast he thought he might break his arm. "Fokke!" The sword was still extremely hot from the fire, and the pain in his hand was intolerable. His eyes welled up, and his vision blurred. Then, oddly enough, it subsided. He looked at his hand, and to his amazement the burn and blisters were going away. He decided not to think to hard on it, hoping it was a blessing of the Divines and not the workings of a mad Daedric prince. He steeled himself, grasping the hilt and running past the threshold and plunging it into the snow as fast as he could. The sword steamed like a Dwemer automaton. As soon as the pain was bearable, he picked it up and smiled. The straight iron blade's dull glow was comforting, in a way. He neede no knight's steel. He was a Nord, and mountain iron was his metal. He braced himself on the blade like a cane as he stood up, and slowly walked back into the cellar to see what the others had gathered.

Svelki had gotten snowshoes, a pair of wooden skis, and several sealskin coats. Klargus had managed to find some dried beef and smoked herring in the barrels. After a bit of searching, they also found one of their mother's old spell tome collections, wrapped in a small bundle. They seemed pleased that Mandel had found the sword. It gave them hope, knowing that their Da was still protecting them in a way. Looking at the haul, Mandel nodded approvingly. "It seems that our only choice is to now make all haste to Dawnstar, then, and tell the Jar, what has happened." His family nodded, gave their assent, and began stuffing the pockets of several leather backpacks with all they could carry. When they were finished, Mandel started up the stairs. "Let's be off. To Dawnstar!"





Far away, in a stone fortress, a man waited and watched. He sat silently among the many other men with him. He stood, slamming his fist on the table. His companions fell silent as he spoke in the voice, that voice of nothing and yet everything. "They are on the move. We must stop the boy before he can realize his true destiny. We must seperate them. We ride tonight, my fellow Dragon Knights." He smirked as the room fell into chaos as each man tried to ready himself the fastest.

This post has been edited by Rohirrim: Sep 17 2013, 09:59 PM