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.