Post by Tatums on May 22, 2011 22:29:52 GMT -5
Everything seemed to be in slow motion; every movement by every person in view was discernible to you, even from the corner of your eyes. To an inexperienced sailor, or a man who had not yet earned their sea-legs, it would seem utter chaos... perhaps it was. Luckily, however, you've been living on ships as a sailor for almost all of your life. You've been through this exact situation a thousand times and come out of it okay; Although it may not have ever been a situation like this through to the end. The previous day's happenings were beginning to run through your head again. These memories had been relentless since morning, and it gave you chills...
This storm was worse than the stories told of. Sailors have always been superstitious, but this lot was more into payment than cowering under the covers, penniless. The day before you signed on for a simple cargo transport, you were greeted at the door to the Inn you were staying at by a grizzled looking old Nord who reeked of Mazte. You recognized by the look of his leathery skin that he had spent a great deal of time on the sea, and had taken in a lot of salt over his life. Interested in hearing some local sailors-tales, you offered to buy him a drink, to which he agreed and followed you into the Inn's bar.
An hour later, both of you are drunk, laughing and singing old sailor songs about women, sunken pirate treasures and the high seas. The alcohol never sat well with you, as you knew. You aren't a native to Skyrim, where the booze was made especially strong. Your now-loosened tongue is eager to share tales of your own to counter the old man's, and you tell him you've signed on for the cargo transport taking off in the morning, and that you hoped for something to happen to spice the trip up. You didn't notice at first, but his face had gone more pale than the polished ivory pipe he had pulled out not ten minutes earlier to puff on.
Another wave crashed against the deck of the ship and claimed three more sailors for the sea; It was too dark to see if they had resurfaced. Your attention had been recovered from your thoughts. People were starting to get clumsy now... A man had caught his foot in the netting of the sails while trying to climb up to the crows nest and was now hanging upside down by his ankle. Judging from the angle at which he was hanging and his yells for help, it was probably dislocated. You've applied shin splints before, and helped treat other small injuries that occur naturally on the deck of a ship, so you immediately began rushing up the netting, carefully as to not fall prey to them yourself. Just as you reached up to untangle his leg, you spot it out of the corner of your eye and recall the Old Man's words of warning.
Drunk and incredulous, you stumbled up the stairs to your room. Such a foolish old man... He should know the difference between a sailor's story and plain idiocy. The words that spilled from his mouth five minutes ago seemed like they belonged in a book or a legend; An epic tale of loss and despair, with one lone survivor... He even showed you his scars that nearly claimed his life.
You awoke in a sweat, shivering as if the air had just gotten colder. You would have earlier thought that to be as impossible as that man's story, considering Skryim was already colder than a Frost Atronach's left asscheek. "The Keep," he called it; You just realized that you had dreamed of a tower upon a cliff, supposedly long abandoned. The man had claimed it was made centuries ago by the Akavir in an attempt to establish a grasp on a piece of Skyrim's shores to increase revenues for their own imports and exports, but was left unfinished.
He had also claimed that the Akaviri ship had never left the nearby port, and the crew was never seen again. A good Ghost Story, until he claimed that the cliffs under the Keep were home to the dead Akaviri men an women, and that the spirits, anger at their own failures and passing, would pull ships into the cliffs to share their fate. Your cargo route was going past the exact area he had pointed out to you with a map.
The next thing you know, a mixture of screaming and salt water in your face snaps you out of your daze. The man whose leg had been stuck was already down on the deck being tended to, but you still feel uneasy. Your gaze meets the massive unfinished tower upon the cliff-side; If you hadn't learned that it was never finished, you would have thought a Dragon had fallen out of the sky and took the top half of the tower into the ocean with it. You find that you can't bring yourself to look away, either... You know you're trying hard to look away, but it's as if some sort of ethereal force wants you to see; To memorize every detail, to fear it. Respect it. Hate it.
As if to prove that this was exactly the case, you see a green glow in the water from the corner of your eye and as if by magic control returns to your body. You climb down from the netting and walk slowly to the railings of the Bow and clutch at them with trembling hands. The wood is cold as ice somehow, and you let go. Leaning forward slightly to look down into the water, you let your guard down and a wave hits the opposite side of the ship hard, sending a reeling crew-mate into your back. The resulting force knocking you into the water; Into the deathly green glowing water.
You're hopeful, at best, but you're in soaked clothing in ice cold waters, churned by the cold and made to be a Void by the dark of night. You find that your only comfort now is the green swirling light below you. You look down into the glow and become almost hypnotized by it; You don't feel as cold, but that could be the late onset of hypothermia. A crashing noise snaps you back into reality, and you discern the sounds of men screaming and wood shattering upon rocks.
Any hope you had left after going overboard is now leaving you, so you look down into the glow again for the only comfort available. After a minute or two you begin to see the faces of the dead in the glow. Some in Akaviri styled helmets, some resembling sailors, and even fewer faces that you recognize from the ship that has just crashed. People you had talked to and helped just hours and minutes before, staring blankly at you from the depths of the ocean, just offshore from the cliffs. A few seconds pass and the glow fades, and everything goes black.
You awake to the sound of a roaring bonfire and the smell of roasting meat, but you're still dazed and cold. You find that someone has pulled you out of the water and, to your immediate dread, into the courtyard of The Keep. After looking around and seeing no one in sight, you remove the several blankets that were on top of you. Your mind is racing with questions like, "What happened? How did I get here? Who saved me? Are there other survivors?" As if someone or something was reading your mind, a loud booming voice echos through the courtyard, sounding as Ancient as stone and as Wise as History itself.
"You almost died. Lucky I found you, or you definitely would have. You cannot die just yet, Dovahkiin. Your people need you, as do some of my own."
You feel like you should be terrified, but as the voice just said, he needs you. He saved you, so you relax a little. You manage to gather just enough strength to ask, "Who are you, and what did you just call me?"
"My name is not important, young one, but I called you Dovahkiin. It means Dragonborn. It means you have a destiny, and it means you cannot die just yet. Eat and regain your strength. You'll need it. If you ever need me... Well, I'll find you. Be safe, be watchful. You'll be needed soon."
Before you can even open your mouth to form a question, you're shut up by the sight of a shadow rising from beyond the wall above you, hidden by the light of the fire. It looms over you for a short few seconds, and lowers itself closer to you. Your heart skips a beat as the light of the fire illuminates the head of a High Dragon, who is looking upon you with a calm but solemn gaze. He leans even further down until his massive head is but inches from your own, and he says something your mind does not register immediately.
The dragon retracts it's head back above the wall, returning itself to the world of the shadow. You can feel his gaze upon you still, but he soon pulls his head back over the wall. A second or two pass and you hear the sound of wings beating, and getting softer and softer until you cannot hear them at all.
Suddenly, you remember that the Dragon had whispered to you. It was not a language you understood but... It felt powerful. If words could replace sticks and stones, this language was it. It could break your bones. You begin to repeat the words of the Dragon in your head, trying to grasp their meaning... And suddenly it hits you. He called you Dragonborn. You know how to form the words in your mouth, but you dare not utter them aloud, not yet. You're still weak. This new discovery has you shivering in excitement... You cannot wait for your first opportunity to use your new gift. You begin to form the words in your head once again, reveling in the power they bring. "Fus Roh Dah."
This storm was worse than the stories told of. Sailors have always been superstitious, but this lot was more into payment than cowering under the covers, penniless. The day before you signed on for a simple cargo transport, you were greeted at the door to the Inn you were staying at by a grizzled looking old Nord who reeked of Mazte. You recognized by the look of his leathery skin that he had spent a great deal of time on the sea, and had taken in a lot of salt over his life. Interested in hearing some local sailors-tales, you offered to buy him a drink, to which he agreed and followed you into the Inn's bar.
An hour later, both of you are drunk, laughing and singing old sailor songs about women, sunken pirate treasures and the high seas. The alcohol never sat well with you, as you knew. You aren't a native to Skyrim, where the booze was made especially strong. Your now-loosened tongue is eager to share tales of your own to counter the old man's, and you tell him you've signed on for the cargo transport taking off in the morning, and that you hoped for something to happen to spice the trip up. You didn't notice at first, but his face had gone more pale than the polished ivory pipe he had pulled out not ten minutes earlier to puff on.
Another wave crashed against the deck of the ship and claimed three more sailors for the sea; It was too dark to see if they had resurfaced. Your attention had been recovered from your thoughts. People were starting to get clumsy now... A man had caught his foot in the netting of the sails while trying to climb up to the crows nest and was now hanging upside down by his ankle. Judging from the angle at which he was hanging and his yells for help, it was probably dislocated. You've applied shin splints before, and helped treat other small injuries that occur naturally on the deck of a ship, so you immediately began rushing up the netting, carefully as to not fall prey to them yourself. Just as you reached up to untangle his leg, you spot it out of the corner of your eye and recall the Old Man's words of warning.
Drunk and incredulous, you stumbled up the stairs to your room. Such a foolish old man... He should know the difference between a sailor's story and plain idiocy. The words that spilled from his mouth five minutes ago seemed like they belonged in a book or a legend; An epic tale of loss and despair, with one lone survivor... He even showed you his scars that nearly claimed his life.
You awoke in a sweat, shivering as if the air had just gotten colder. You would have earlier thought that to be as impossible as that man's story, considering Skryim was already colder than a Frost Atronach's left asscheek. "The Keep," he called it; You just realized that you had dreamed of a tower upon a cliff, supposedly long abandoned. The man had claimed it was made centuries ago by the Akavir in an attempt to establish a grasp on a piece of Skyrim's shores to increase revenues for their own imports and exports, but was left unfinished.
He had also claimed that the Akaviri ship had never left the nearby port, and the crew was never seen again. A good Ghost Story, until he claimed that the cliffs under the Keep were home to the dead Akaviri men an women, and that the spirits, anger at their own failures and passing, would pull ships into the cliffs to share their fate. Your cargo route was going past the exact area he had pointed out to you with a map.
The next thing you know, a mixture of screaming and salt water in your face snaps you out of your daze. The man whose leg had been stuck was already down on the deck being tended to, but you still feel uneasy. Your gaze meets the massive unfinished tower upon the cliff-side; If you hadn't learned that it was never finished, you would have thought a Dragon had fallen out of the sky and took the top half of the tower into the ocean with it. You find that you can't bring yourself to look away, either... You know you're trying hard to look away, but it's as if some sort of ethereal force wants you to see; To memorize every detail, to fear it. Respect it. Hate it.
As if to prove that this was exactly the case, you see a green glow in the water from the corner of your eye and as if by magic control returns to your body. You climb down from the netting and walk slowly to the railings of the Bow and clutch at them with trembling hands. The wood is cold as ice somehow, and you let go. Leaning forward slightly to look down into the water, you let your guard down and a wave hits the opposite side of the ship hard, sending a reeling crew-mate into your back. The resulting force knocking you into the water; Into the deathly green glowing water.
You're hopeful, at best, but you're in soaked clothing in ice cold waters, churned by the cold and made to be a Void by the dark of night. You find that your only comfort now is the green swirling light below you. You look down into the glow and become almost hypnotized by it; You don't feel as cold, but that could be the late onset of hypothermia. A crashing noise snaps you back into reality, and you discern the sounds of men screaming and wood shattering upon rocks.
Any hope you had left after going overboard is now leaving you, so you look down into the glow again for the only comfort available. After a minute or two you begin to see the faces of the dead in the glow. Some in Akaviri styled helmets, some resembling sailors, and even fewer faces that you recognize from the ship that has just crashed. People you had talked to and helped just hours and minutes before, staring blankly at you from the depths of the ocean, just offshore from the cliffs. A few seconds pass and the glow fades, and everything goes black.
You awake to the sound of a roaring bonfire and the smell of roasting meat, but you're still dazed and cold. You find that someone has pulled you out of the water and, to your immediate dread, into the courtyard of The Keep. After looking around and seeing no one in sight, you remove the several blankets that were on top of you. Your mind is racing with questions like, "What happened? How did I get here? Who saved me? Are there other survivors?" As if someone or something was reading your mind, a loud booming voice echos through the courtyard, sounding as Ancient as stone and as Wise as History itself.
"You almost died. Lucky I found you, or you definitely would have. You cannot die just yet, Dovahkiin. Your people need you, as do some of my own."
You feel like you should be terrified, but as the voice just said, he needs you. He saved you, so you relax a little. You manage to gather just enough strength to ask, "Who are you, and what did you just call me?"
"My name is not important, young one, but I called you Dovahkiin. It means Dragonborn. It means you have a destiny, and it means you cannot die just yet. Eat and regain your strength. You'll need it. If you ever need me... Well, I'll find you. Be safe, be watchful. You'll be needed soon."
Before you can even open your mouth to form a question, you're shut up by the sight of a shadow rising from beyond the wall above you, hidden by the light of the fire. It looms over you for a short few seconds, and lowers itself closer to you. Your heart skips a beat as the light of the fire illuminates the head of a High Dragon, who is looking upon you with a calm but solemn gaze. He leans even further down until his massive head is but inches from your own, and he says something your mind does not register immediately.
The dragon retracts it's head back above the wall, returning itself to the world of the shadow. You can feel his gaze upon you still, but he soon pulls his head back over the wall. A second or two pass and you hear the sound of wings beating, and getting softer and softer until you cannot hear them at all.
Suddenly, you remember that the Dragon had whispered to you. It was not a language you understood but... It felt powerful. If words could replace sticks and stones, this language was it. It could break your bones. You begin to repeat the words of the Dragon in your head, trying to grasp their meaning... And suddenly it hits you. He called you Dragonborn. You know how to form the words in your mouth, but you dare not utter them aloud, not yet. You're still weak. This new discovery has you shivering in excitement... You cannot wait for your first opportunity to use your new gift. You begin to form the words in your head once again, reveling in the power they bring. "Fus Roh Dah."