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

[Colonel Mustard]

Another enjoyable chapter to read, and I liked Miller/Corporus in this (Corporus is the perfect name for a plague doctor, btw); it was fun to have the mysterious and slightly frightening beaked physician actually be a rather approachable sort who's just putting it on as an act.

It hurt like all get thee hence

Absolutely loved this little line, btw.

If there is one thing to say, it's that it would make it way easier to read if you put in a new line when a character starts speaking; as it is, mixing speech up with big paragraphs makes it difficult to read, especially as people tend to inadvertently start skipping stuff when there are big blocks of text in a story.