Categories > Games > Elder Scrolls 4: Oblivion > Skyrim : A Elder Scrolls FanFiction

Skyrim : A Elder Scrolls FanFiction

by Saeta_ 0 reviews

Saeta - a khajiit whose a two-hundread and nintey seven year old - is a wanderer. Come along and join him on his crazy adventure through Skyrim, a Nordic land, cold and harsh.

Category: Elder Scrolls 4: Oblivion - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Fantasy,Sci-fi - Warnings: [!] - Published: 2018-12-13 - 926 words - Complete

Chapter one: The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim

Saeta had been jostled awake.
“Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border,
right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that
thief over there.” Ralof said
“Darn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was
nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen
that horse and been half way to Hammerfell,” Lokir spat. Lokir had glanced at Saeta, and said, “You there. You and me -- we shouldn’t be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants,” He spat again, sneering at Ralof. Saeta had shook his head, glancing down at his hands that were bound together with chains so thick, you couldn’t break it if you tried.
Saeta had groaned, as the chains agitated his fur, rubbing his skin raw.
“Were all brothers and sisters in binds now, theif,” Ralof heaved a sigh.
“Shut up back there!” The Imperial wagon driver turned and looked over his shoulder, sneering the words through his teeth. The Imperial wagon driver had ate a citrus fruit, in particular, an orange, throwing the peel into the wagon, hitting Lokir in the head.
Lokir,shaking his head, had looked at the gagged man. “What's up with him?” Ralof had quickly snapped back with, “Watch your tongue! You’re talking the Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!” Lokir had his mouth hanging open, closing it mechanically. “Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion. Oh god, if they have you, where are they taking us?!”
Ralof had replied, more calming, quiet like, “I don’t know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits.” Ralof had respited from speaking, resting his voice for the last words he may speak. He had shook his head, Saeta still sitting in and listening.
Lokir had his eyes wide. “No, this can’t be happening, this isn’t happening!” “What village are you from horse thief?” Ralof had spoken softly, not in a rude or mean tone. “Why do you care?” Lokir asked flatly. Ralof had closed his eyes and said, “A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.” “..Rorikstead. I’m..I’m from Rorikstead.” Lokir was shaking a little, too jumpy. Saeta could tell by his chained hands. The chains were clanking and making noise.
The wagon approaches the town, being Helgen. A Imperial soldier had shouted, leading them into Helgen. “General Tullius, Sir! The headsman is waiting!” The soldier shouted. The imperial soldier had sneered at Saeta, setting the Khajiit’s fur on end. The imperial’s were indifferent to the stormcloaks, myself and Lokir. They didn’t give a snoot about us.
General Tullius had smiled an eerie smile, and spoke, “Let’s get this over with.” Lokir had whispered, a whisper that Saeta could barely even hear. “ Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me.”
Ralof had looked at Lokir, then Ulfric, and then Saeta. “Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Darn elves. I bet they had something to do with this.” Ralof paused for a moment. “This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Violad is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny..When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe..” Ralof had rambled on until a whisper, then not speaking at all.
Saeta had looked behind him, seeing a father and son sitting on their porch. “Who are they daddy? Where are thy going?” the son had looked up at his father, his eyes full of curiosity. The father had replied with, “You need to go inside little cub.” Saeta had thought to himself, “Tsk, the kid’ll need to grow up someday..”
“Why? I want to watch the soldiers” The little boy had cut his sentence short. “Inside the house. Now.” The small boy had stood up and entered the home.
The carts had rolled into the stopping point, and they stopped with a strenuous hault, not needing much effort. The now prisioners were out of the hovel wagon, the small, poorly cramped space with muck and dirt all over it, a little blood too. The cuffs were still on Saeta and it felt like it was a permanate mark on his wrists from the cuffs being too tight, he hoped he was able to get these off soon.
One of the Archers had sighed, saying the work was “toil, long, and hard, and menial” They had gotten unloaded from the wagons, and had been walked over to a small area that had a small boulder like rock with a small wedge cut out, preferribly for slicing heads off necks. Saeta had put himself in a state of urgency. He started panicking, and sweating. Once they called Lokir’s name, he bolted, running like the wind.
“Archers! Get Him!” A general snapped. The archers pulled out thier bows, and arrows. The archer dressed in gold armour, aimed at Lokir, and let the arrow shoot for the stars.
The arrow whistled in the wind, like a dart, tailing beind Lokir.
The arrow had hit him in the back, going straight through him. He quickly turned around, looking at Saeta, his eyes struck with horror. Saeta locked eyes with him. Lokir had fell onto his knees, the arrow on the left side of his chest, from Saeta’s guess, the heart.
Lokir was dead.
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