The Tale of Aurora Delvanni: Chapter One, Aurora Delvanni is forced to flee to Skyrim and start a new life. Options

[Tellie]

The Tale of Aurora Delvanni.

Foreword:

'So you've come to write down my story have you? I thank you. I was born Aurora Regine Septim. The only daughter of Saryn Constantin Uriel Septim, the only son of Martin Septim and Salina Delvanni. What was that? Oh I can assure you the Septim bloodline is not as dead as people would have you believe and my favily has always been a long lived one.'

'As I was saying I was born Aurora Regine Septim, but like my father I chose not to use the name Septim. The Septim line was almost destroyed completely and that is why my grandmother kept the birth of her and Martin's son a secret, and my father had no desire to lay claim to the throne either, so without further ado let us begin.'

Chapter One. A New Home:

It was a few days after my twelfth birthday that tragedy struck my family. My family had been living in relative peace in Bruma ever since the Oblivion crisis, but peace was not to last. I had grow up with the war against the Aldmeri Dominion and could vividly remember the fires as Cloud Ruler Temple was burnt to the ground with the Blades along with it in the 175th year of the Fourth Era. That was the first day I had seen my father truly angry.

Grandmaster Jokad the great grandson of the legendary Blade Baurus was the only Blade who knew my true identity and had been a lifelong friend of my father so when the attack came my father could not be stopped. Two hundred years old and he grabbed his sword and started running towards Cloud Ruler with more agility then I had seen in much younger men, and naturally I panicked.

With my mother dead the year before I had no one left, so I ran after him. A few hundred yards away he stopped and turned towards me. "Aurora go back, this is not something you should see".

His words hit me like a slap in the face. "Please don't go father, I have no one left but you", I could already feel tears mar my face as I saw the determination in his old eyes.

"AURORA, please don't do this, I have to try and stop this...but I cannot allow you to throw away your life, go back", the steel in his voice brooked no argument so I simply nodded at him, knowing that if I spoke I would break down in pleading sobs.

Once he had passed the burning gates I followed trying to keep myself to the shadows as much as possible. Sneaking closer I heard the sound of steel clashing with steel and my father's mighty shouts rang out across the courtyard.

Climbing up the steps I hid behind a pillar as the last Blades who had not been hunted down, betrayed by their Emperor fought against the much larger force of Thalmor soldiers, With my father joining the small battle it appeared that hope was not yet lost as none could stand before him when he swung his mighty ebony claymore and his spells claimed the life of dozens as he waded through the battlefield.

To my horror though someone slipped past his guard and knocked him to the ground. With his weapon lost and two Thalmorians pinning him down I could only watch with silent horror as a giant of an elf raised his sword for a killing blow, yet before he could strike Jokad threw himself at the elf shouting "RUN MY LORD, WE'LL COVER YOU".

Before my father had a chance to act however a blast of magic disarmed the remaining Blades and then the fight was over, each of them held with a sword to their throats and the big Thalmor soldier removed his helmet.

"My Lord? I was under the impression that you served Titus Meade The Emperor, not some half breed from Bruma".

Jokad bowed his head in shame now that the secret was out, my father was more than he seemed. "You'll get nothing out of me filth", he growled before launching a most impressive clot of spit and mucus into the enemy's face.

The Thalmor leader, his face reddening drew out his blade once more, "Then if you do not tell me I'll just kill him now and be done with it".

This time I was prepared. I already had the words for a fireball spell in my head when I was suddenly clubbed over the back of the head. Seeing stars I crashed into the snow as I tried to clear my vision, and I was vaguely aware of screaming as someone grabbed me by my hair and dragged me over to the others.

"Aurora you silly girl", my father moaned as I was dropped before him. "Please I'll do anything you ask, just don't hurt her", he begged of the Thalmor who laughed cruelly.

"Then tell me what the honourable Blade here was talking about, who are you"?

My father sighed knowing that he was damned either way. "If I tell you will you swear to let her live"?

The Thalmor sighed as if my father had laid on him a heavy burden. "Yes yes I swear I shall not lay a hand upon her".

Apparently satisfied my father took a deep breath. "I am Saryn Constantin Uriel Septim, the son of Martin Septim and true heir to the throne of the Empire".

For a whole minute not a sound was uttered before the Thalmor shrieked a fearsome cry and beheaded my father with a deft stroke of his blade. I screamed in fear and denial as my father's head rolled on the ground and then rage overtook me. Screaming with pain and rage I threw myself at the Thalmor only to be thrown to the ground with mocking laughter ringing in my ears.

"My my you are a feisty one, I believe your death shall be a slow and painful one", he smiled wickedly as he approached me with his blade ready. Panicking I reached out for anything that could help me and from inside me something stirred like a beast of old and with a booming voice like I had never heard my mouth uttered the word [b]'FUS'[/b].

The effect was instant, the Thalmor soldiers were thrown away like ragdolls and the surviving Blades reacted immediately, grabbing discarded weapons they threw themselves at the Thalmor while Jokad grabbed me by my arm and ran,

Once we had reached the Bruma stables he stopped. "Aurora you must leave now".

Shaking my head I tried to speak only to cough up blood, that shout must have done as much if not more harm to me than my enemies.

"Listen the Blades are all but gone and Cyrodiil is no longer safe. Grab a horse and ride. Ride far away where they won’t find you. I rode as hard as I could while the remaining Blades threw themselves at the Thalmor in a futile attempt at delaying them. They bought me time enough at least to stop by the home of myself and my now deceased father where I hurriedly grabbed whatever valuables we had: a good two hundred septims, a trusty steel dagger and a magnificent red jewelled amulet in the shape of a diamond, banded by gold and eight smaller gems that my father had told me I would one day inherit (but must keep hidden at all costs). Pocketing the coins, sheathing the knife in my boot and slipping the amulet over my head I donned a travel worn blue hooded robe and pointed my horse in the general direction of far away.

I lost track of time quickly enough. While heartbroken at the murder of my father and jumpy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs (thank you Thalmor and any agents you may or may not have after me), I was also excited. I was a very precocious and grown up (or so I told myself) twelve-year-old with nothing but the future (and endless muddy roads, curses!) ahead of me and surely this was the start of my very own adventure that would surely rival those of my grandmother or even grand aunt (who was living it up in Morrowind and no doubt amusing herself…and any of her compatriots by blasting Argonians back and forth after their rather…misguided attempts at invading a realm protected by three living gods who had sent Mehrunes Dagon screaming headfirst back to Oblivion).

Of course, a twelve-year-old's imagination is rather different from the harsh realities of the world. It was cold, it was wet, it was damned uncomfortable roughing it in the woods due to no innkeepers willing to either: house a twelve-year-old without parents for free or accepting said twelve-year-old’s coin (when I had them). Oh yes, a good two hundred coins did me well…for about two weeks, then I had to get creative. First and foremost, without coin there wasn’t a single innkeeper (a pox on all of them) who would even entertain the notion of housing me (regardless of my doe eyes and hopeful beaming smile).

Furthermore, without coin I lacked the crucial ingredient for a good life…or even life in general. Food is sadly a necessary ingredient to keep our bodily functions working, and food doesn’t exactly grow on trees…well I suppose some of it grow on trees, but I’ve found out that unannounced (and unpermitted) trips into someone’s fruit garden or vegetable patch is a very good way to give yourself a good bout of personal exercise (to avoid either the cane or the guards…I’m still undecided to which one is worse). Regardless, over the years that I spent wandering Tamriel on foot, (my trusty mount Brunhilde having found her way into my pot that very first year) I discovered that I had a peculiar set of natural talents (from my father’s stories an inherited family trait).

Magic came rather naturally to me, the only problem was finding the proper spellbooks, after all mages and shopkeepers didn’t give them out in charity (a pox on them too). I was also blessed with the ability to not only find myself in constant hot waters with guards, shopkeepers…priests, most of the time due to my rather itchy fingers that took a delight in…borrowing items (food and coin for the most part), items that most of the time I did not technically have permission to ‘borrow’, regardless if it was for a good cause or not (and yes, keeping me alive is a good cause I can assure you). Still, the only thing I did better than getting into tight spots was wriggling my way out of them, being blessed by not only very good genes (apparently scraping and clawing one’s way out of trouble was a time honoured Delvanni family trait stretching back for generations), said genes had gotten a very good workout over the years as most of the time I was on the move (guards, or anyone else I’d robbed and/or insulted not far behind me).

Of course, living in the wilds (I dread the state my hair must have been in those years) I also learnt a lot about survival, like how to handle an axe (nothing wrong about a traveller carrying an axe, besides the fact that the massive dwemer monstrosity was sharp and big enough to bisect a troll), I also discovered that whenever you get stuck in situations like: guards who refuse to listen to reason (excuses or outright lies really) or stubborn wildlife (that most of the time want to add you to their palate) a good fireball is always the best answer (and in some cases also gets you free dinner).

Still, as I was saying I travelled Tamriel back and forth never staying more than a day or two at the most in any given city, as such I was…rather out of touch with local news (or even what year it was). I knew of course that the Great War had ended (a few months after I left as a matter of fact) with the signing of the White Gold Concordat. The Argonians had not only been beaten soundly by my quite frankly terrifying great aunt (at least that’s how father described her) but evolved into a state of perpetual war as the Dunmer of Morrowind took a trip down every once in a while to pick up new helpers (slaves) and the Argonians sent another wave back into Morrowind (aided by whatever mercenary or sellsword stupid enough to join every few years only to be beaten back soundly). And unrest was stirring in Skyrim.

Normally such news would have me steer clear of the land with a wide margin (the state of war being the biggest reason I did not seek out my great aunt after all). But unfortunately in the nearly two decades I’d roamed Tamriel I’d managed to infuriate quite a few local magistrates (and other persons of less repute), almost to the fact that if someone caught me and managed to provide proof that I was the one behind the numerous crimes and insults paid (isn’t it wonderful to never stay long enough for someone to learn your name?) He/She would earn enough money from the unclaimed bounties to probably buy themselves a minor Duchy somewhere.

So unless I was willing to enter the warzone that was the Morrowind/Black Marsh border, then Skyrim was the only option left, so it was with a heavy heart that I stole a horse from the Duke of Chorrol’s personal stable (glee actually, the poor beast was no doubt better off with someone who was not the size of a small troll like the aforementioned duke). Slipping out of Chorrol with my new (and quite thankful) steed and a suspiciously heavier pack (the local backer should learn to use locks better than what a blind beggar could pick) was simplicity itself…that of course should be clue enough that my bi-polar family luck would kick in.
No sooner had I crossed into Skyrim that a blizzard so strong I couldn’t even see my poor shaking fingers struck. I was forced to make a quick makeshift shelter compiled of sticks and some rolls of cloth, the only source of warmth I had was this delightful fur coat that I’d spotted hanging innocently by itself in the entrance hall of the Cheydinhal Chapel. My poor horse was forced to stand out in the cold and freeze even more than I, (un)fortunately Dinner (three guesses what I intended to do with the horse when I named her) would be free of the blasted weather soon enough.

The godsforsaken blizzard (a pox on Kynareth for exposing me to it) lasted for three days. What’s worse, Dinner managed to escape (from the weather or discovering my plots for her I’ll never know), so there I was. Cold, hungry and bereaved of most of my worldly possessions (most of them still latched on to Dinner's saddle), the only things I had left were the clothes on my back, the now sodden cloak I’d used as a ‘roof’, my amulet and of course my trusty axe (and hidden knife).

I wandered through waist high snowdrifts for perhaps a day, continuously swearing to myself that as soon as I found a town I’d settle down for good and turn over a new leaf in life. Start fresh as a lawful citizen (I was after all, a decent healer, a good forester and hunter, and had some skill in a smithy, blacksmiths often accepted help in return for a measly coin or three and you quickly pick up things when you do them for a good decade or two). Of course, my relapse into crime came perhaps the very next day or so when I spotted a man dressed in leather armor walking by his lonesome with nothing but a woodcutter’s axe in his hands and a short sword at his waist.

I know I said that I would start fresh, but I was hungry, and the man obviously had coin, and in the grand scale of things what was one last robbery? Not receiving an answer, I unsheathed my axe from its place on my back and stepped towards him. “Hello there, give us your coins and nothing bad will happen to ya”, I said with my best smile as I hefted the big axe in my hands.

The man breaking out into a laughing fit wasn’t exactly the reaction I’d planned for, the pointed cough from behind me provided me with ample explanation for why the man was laughing. Standing perhaps a few feet away (certainly within arms reach) was no less than a whole company of Imperial Legionnaires in full armour and a pair of carts laden with prisoners (dressed in light scale, mail and leather armour with blue cloth and furs). “Oh Bugger!” were my last words before a mailed fist sent me happily into the land of dreams.


So I decided to rewrite large parts of the intro (and add more parts) to make it more 'correct' in terms of time. Such as the end of the Great War (and beginning of the sotry) does not lead to Aurora going straight to Skyrim. Instead it leads to Aurora developing into a (somewhat) competent their and warrior/mage with literally nothing to her name (except a very long list of bounties matching her description). SO at the start of 'Skyrim' (main part of this story) she is thirty seven years old (rather young still as she is 'technically' a dark elf).
Also I will be trying to focus on this story mostly for now while my muse is with it, but I haven't forgotten (or stopped working on) my other stories. So please leave a review and enjoy.

This post has been edited by Tellie: Mar 16 2016, 08:26 AM

[Tellie]

After a quick (but satisfying) meal I was all set for continuing forward but Ralof must have spotted my enthusiasm as he threw out an arm to stop me. �Be careful and take it slow in nord barrows friend-� he said gravely. �-the ancient nords who built them placed countless traps, not to mention draugr usually infest places like this�.

�Well that�s unfortunate�, I thought to myself. To be honest I�d had enough of traps during my formative years alone, as there are very few places a lone girl (wanted by guards and thalmor alike) could spend a night outside of old fort ruins, caves and worst of all Aylied ruins. I�d learnt the hard way (and I do have scars to prove it) that the Aylieds also like their traps, fortunately I�d become a rather deft hand at spotting and disarming or avoiding them.

�Wait-!� I said suddenly, �-what in Talos� name is a draugr?� I asked suddenly.

�The sleeping corpses of old nords, servants and soldiers alike of the old dragon priests, entombed alongside their masters�they serve them even now in death�, Hadvar said.

�Oh�� I said lamely. I had encountered the odd zombie in Cyrodiil and High Rock, but I had a sneaking suspicion that draugr were another thing entirely. �I suppose we have to be careful then�, I finished with a defiant nod. Going over the gear of the two outlaws we had killed I was pleased to find a steel dagger and a steel tanto, the latter raising my eyebrow in surprise. While the elegantly curved Akaviri weapons were common enough in Cyrodiil and to an extent Morrowind, the nords of Skyrim usually went for simple but strong straight steel, but I wasn't complaining. I preferred to use an axe, but in the relatively narrow corridors in front of us it would be far better to go with the shorter reach of daggers, as I�d have much more room to manoeuvre, satisfied we set out, myself in the lead, Ralof to my left and Hadvar to my right while Faendal took the rear, and arrow already knocked on the bowstring.

We took our time, moving carefully forward, placing what loot could be easily carried into our packs, netting us five health potions, two fireball scrolls and a good thirty coins. Another outlaw was encountered (and shuffled off the mortal coil thanks to an arrow from Faendal), as well as a trio of ravenous skeevers that discovered just how dangerous a young blonde nord can be with an axe in his hands.
We took a few wrong turns, discovering corridors that had become inaccessible due to cave ins, until we heard a faint plea for help. Cutting through a thick layer of spider webbing we found ourself in a rather large cavernous room where at the end a fellow dunmer was quite literally wrapped up in webbing, and the rather large �THUMP� made by a huge spider revealed how that had come to pass.

The large beast made a rather disturbing clicking sound as it shuffled forward on its eight legs, and made a high shrieking sound of pain when Faendal�s arrow found its mark, said shriek fortunately drowning out my own �MEEP� of shock and fear at spotting the giant beast�I really do hate spiders.
Ralof and Hadver on the other hand had no such fear apparently as they both stormed forward and started to hack away at the beast from either side, confusing it and driving it into a frenzy as the pain from the strikes overwhelmed it, until a lucky arrow from Faendal pierced the centre of its head and the spider stilled, except for the occasional twitch.

Moving over to the wrapped up dunmer I smothered a grin at his desperate pleas. �You�re one of those who stole the golden claw in Riverwood aren�t you?� I asked him as I softly caressed his face with my dagger.
�Wha? NO! I�yes YES by the Eight YES�, he babbled as I increased the pressure of my dagger at his throat, causing a fine red line of blood to appear.
�Thought so�, I stated as I drew a rope from out of my pack and tied it around his neck. �Now you are going to follow us and if you make one wrong move�well, I�m sure Ralof here wouldn�t mind removing your head�, Ralof grinned wickedly at this and accepted the rope with glee.

A quick search of the mer�s pack revealed the golden claw and we set on our way, the corridors unnaturally silnent but for our footsteps and the whimpers of the outlaw. Coming into another room that had mummified corpses in small alcoves cut out in the stone we slowed down slightly.

�These must be the draugr�, I thought to myself as we tried to sneak quietly by, at least until the blasted outlaw stepped on a pressure plate. From seemingly out of nowhere a large spiked steel girder swung out and impaled the elf and smashed his corpse against the wall, and even worse, it woke up the draugr.

Strange coughs and barks, as well as words that tugged at the edges of my mind erupted all around us as draugr started to come to life, their empty eye sockets suddenly glowing blue. Without wasting time, I went for the closest one, slamming my steel dagger into its chest cavity while drawing my tanto harshly across its throat, slicing all the way down to the bone, it stilled instantly, whatever sorcery animating it unable to keep hold after the horrendous damage. Going for the next I was not as unfortunate as the undead construct had already gotten to its feet and held in its hands was a worn iron shield and a slightly rusted blade of old Nordic design. It seemed however that, while there may be a spark of intelligence in the netherlight of its eyes, it was still little more than an animated corpse. Its movements were relatively slow and sluggish, yet they didn�t lack for strength I noted as I ducked under a one handed swing that impacted in a stone column and sent a small shower of stone splinters away.

The creature swung again and I leant to the side before going inside its guard and bent low before plunging my dagger and tanto repeatedly into its soft belly, just below the ancient armour plates it wore. The draugr screamed in pain before it fell to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.

Looking around I saw no more of them, Ralof and Hadvar had teamed up quite efficiently and Faendal was gleefully gathering together arrows from the corpses, no less than four of them carrying evidence of the bosmeri hunter�s skill with a bow.
Repeating our previous actions we gathered the weapons, shields and whatever pieces of armour we could find and piled it all together before continuing through the ruin, now a lot more careful about traps. Perhaps another eight draugr were dispatched on our journey until we came to the next traps, a narrow corridor with giant axes winging back and forth at quite frankly worrying velocity.

�This could be a problem�, Ralof said, and I was forced to nod. Hadvar was the one who was wearing the most durable armour of us, and that was still composed mostly of chainmail and cured leather, while his chest was protected by an Iron breastplate gifted to him by his uncle Alvor, and as such, a single good hit would still d him in.

�Step back!� I barked, causing my three companions to step away while I drew a big breath. �FUS-RO-DAH�, I barely noticed the swinging axes breaking off their joints and blasting away from me into the next room as a searing pain flared through my head, while it felt like a horse had just kicked me in my chest. Dimly I was aware of Hadvar and Ralof lifting me up from where I had knelt on the floor, and after coughing I realised that the wet sensation in my mouth and accompanying bad taste was blood.

"Are you well?" Hadvar asked.

�I�ve been worse,� I grit out as I took a sip from a health potion in my pouch, wincing slightly as I could literally feel my insides shifting, ruptured arteries and the like knitting back together.
The large cavernous hall that we entered was already littered with the corpses of draugr. Two of them had been neatly bisected by the big axe blades, while another four were merrily burning for some reason. Shrugging we continued, up a flight of stairs and over a stone bridge that led into a large straight hall with a circular door at the end.

Inspecting the door I was forcibly reminded of another puzzle we�d faced earlier that revolved around three triangular pillars that we had to turn the right way so that the images matched up�we didn�t learn this fact until we tried opening it once and barely escaped from a trap that had pelted the opening mechanism in a shower of poisoned darts.

At slightly below head height on the door were three jagged holes, and hefting the golden claw I saw that the claws matched up to the holes on it. Inspecting it further I saw three images on the claw, and lo and behold, right above the centre part of the door were three movable plates with an image on each. Going by my gut feeling I started to revolve the plates until I was certain I had the proper combination: owl, bat and at the top a bear.

Gesturing for the others to step back again in case of a trap I inserted the claw and twisted it. The sound of stone grinding on stone rung out before with a large �CLICK� the door sank down into the floor and we could step through, hopefully the worst was now over�

This post has been edited by Tellie: Feb 1 2017, 05:09 PM