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 Two

Henrik awoke yet again to a bump riddled ride. The silhouettes of his fellow prisoners came into view as his eyes adjusted to the morning sunlight; one was dressed in Stormcloak garb. A blond man sat in front of him, eyes toward the floor of the carriage; another sat to Henrik’s right, though there was a gag in his mouth and was enveloped in fine clothes. The last of the men sat towards the back of the carriage. He was a brute of a man, covered in the scars of past battles, hair and thick beard black as the Void, and he was clothed in rags. Odd bunch. Henrik thought.

The blond man glanced up from the floor and caught Henrik’s gaze, his eyes steeped in sadness and disappointment. “Good to see you’re finally awake. We thought they had thrown us on here with a dead man,” the man said. “How did you get tangled up in this?” Henrik’s memory began to creep back.

“Ambushed by those Gods-be-damned Elves,” Henrik said through gritted teeth.

“Same as us, but we were ambushed by these bastards,” the man swung his head towards one of the Imperial soldiers, who spun around to pommel the blond man with his elbow. The blond man grunted and said, “I’m Ralof, by the way. Not that it matters now. Sovngarde seems to be calling us.”

Henrik gave a weak smile and said, “Name’s Henrik.” He understood why the rebellion had started; no man should be told who he can and cannot worship, especially regarding a man such as Talos Stormcrown.

Ralof then pointed towards the gagged man in front of the brute, “This is Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, true High King of Skyrim!” It seems I’ll be put on the block; especially if they’ve got me tied up next to the ‘rebel’ leader.

Out of the corner of his eye, Henrik could see the brute near the back staring into the forest, nostrils flared and eyes lusting for the chance at freedom. Ralof glanced at Henrik and shook his head as if to say talking to the brute was a lost cause. Curious, Henrik leaned forward and asked, “And your name?”

The Nord brute turned his steely gaze upon Henrik, scrutinizing every small detail. Henrik could see an animalistic quality in the brute with his dirty, matted hair and dark, sweaty smudges all along his arms, neck, and face. “Not important. No sense in getting comfortable,” he spat, returning to his deep gaze into the woods. Henrik glanced back towards Ralof and shrugged his shoulders; Ralof gave Henrik a look as if to say ‘Told you so.’

*******

The conversation had died down significantly over last hour, leaving Henrik to only his thoughts and the wondrous beauty of the snow-capped mountains and trees surrounding him. The anger that had risen in him before had been slowly replaced with the acceptance of his death, bringing about almost euphoric sights, sounds, and scents. Of course, he had been confronted with death before, but this instance had felt entirely different.

Henrik was quickly shaken from his thoughts as the watch tower of Helgen crept over the snow covered pines. A thin sheet of ice rested atop the battlements, glistening in the morning sun. There were a number of black silhouettes sat perched at the top, as well, seemingly ushering in death.

Ralof once again brought his eyes from the floor and into Henrik’s. “Where are you from, Henrik?” He asked.

“Whiterun. Why do you ask?”

“Because a Nord’s last thoughts should be of home,” Ralof said as he rested his back against the old oak rail and smiled into the sun.

[Colonel Mustard]

Ooh, a Skyrim story! And one with both your twist on it (kudos for not simply copying all the dialogue across) and potentially one or two interesting new additions; I was particularly intrigued by the description of this fella;

The Nord brute turned his steely gaze upon Henrik, scrutinizing every small detail. Henrik could see an animalistic quality in the brute with his dirty, matted hair and dark, sweaty smudges all along his arms, neck, and face. “Not important. No sense in getting comfortable,” he spat, returning to his deep gaze into the woods.

That doesn't remind me of Lokir the horse thief, for some reason. I'm intrigued to see what will happen with him, and to Henrik himself.

[mALX]

Sorry it took so long to get over here, and welcome to the forum! I am loving this story, most especially your dialogues throughout both chapters! This proves to be interesting, especially due to your ability to draw your characters out through their personalities - LOVING this! Awesome Write!

[Lord Veneficus]

Thank you, guys! I should have another chapter within the week. I have finals this week so I'll be a bit busy, but a chapter is in the works!

[King Coin]

Sounds like a stormcloak story. As others have noted, that's not the horse thief we remember from the beginning.

[Lord Veneficus]

You'll be surprised.

[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.

[Colonel Mustard]

I'm liking this new take on Skyrim that you've got going here; it makes things nice and interesting to read and is a greaty way of mixing it all up. And I like some of the little details you've added in here too, like Ralof and Hadvar knowing each other from Riverwood.

And we've got one hell of a cliffie too; I wonder how Henrik is going to get out of this little scrape...

[King Coin]

Then, a strange dark blot darted from the peak of one of the lesser mountains and into the clouds.
I wonder who that is?

I enjoyed the little bit you added between Hadvar and Ralof. Clearly they know each other in the game, Hadvar yells at Ralof by name when you are with him, but he makes no indication when he’s reading the names.

Wow, I think Hadvar’s name is going to be added to the list. Wonder if the dragon’s going to save the day again?

[Lord Veneficus]

Just here to let you guys know that I haven't forgotten about this. I've just been super busy and a lot of unfortunate circumstances have stifled my inspiration at the moment.

I'll have something for you guys soon.

[PhonAntiPhon]

Just here to let you guys know that I haven't forgotten about this. I've just been super busy and a lot of unfortunate circumstances have stifled my inspiration at the moment.

I'll have something for you guys soon.

I hope so because I have been reading this this evening and really rather enjoying it! Good work.