A Standup Philosopher
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And So The Eagle Conquered 02
🕑 Added 2025-07-30 15:06:28 +0000 UTCThe crisp mountain air, the sweet smell of a mist-laden forest and a fresh-water river, and the natural cacophony of more living creatures than any area near my old home were all a magnificent display of the beauty that could be found in a world that didn’t really have much in the way of industry. Oh, there were a few things across Tamriel that qualified, and it went without saying that The Elder Scrolls was a rather anachronistic world in many ways, but it was nothing near what my old home would have called ‘industrial’.
Which was far from a complaint, even if I did still have a very large, expletive-and-exclamation-point-laden list of questions about how exactly I had ended up here. Don’t get me wrong, I adored Skyrim and the world of The Elder Scrolls in general. There were few other worlds that I would be particularly excited to end up in, and most of them were -much like TES- childhood favorites like Final Fantasy.
Of course, the vast majority of those worlds, Skyrim included, would easily qualify as ‘death worlds’ to most people. But hey. I'm in one of my favorite games, able to become the most powerful wizard-warrior-thief hybrid and bang all the NPCs.
Even better, I had been ‘reborn’ as one of my own characters, instead of some random nobody! Which, granted, indicated some manner of deliberate action on something’s part to bring me here, but one would assume that was the case anyway, right? And it was one of my most powerful and advantageous character backgrounds as well, which was nice.
Not the most spectacular, perhaps -that particular trophy belonged to a certain reincarnation of Alessia, returned to free mankind from the elves once again-, but Constantine Valerius was certainly the one with the best head start.
And the most fetish-indulgence, too, for that matter. A very significant and vital detail, to be sure, and honestly probably the one that made me happiest, because I was a fucking vampire. A pureblooded vampire, to be specific, of the Nedic line from Lamae Bal herself. Which had been a hell of a thing to ‘remember’ having happen to me. Thank God that my backstory clove pretty closely to the one I had created for the game character, because otherwise that beautiful, kinky, playful alchemist I had spent five months rolling around with in Skingrad would have quite literally eaten me for lunch instead of finding me ‘interesting’ enough to spare and turn.
Sure, I had written that portion of the backstory in a fit of juvenile amusement while joking to myself that ‘his penis is so spectacular even vampiric black widows can’t help but fall under it’s spell’, because not all of my character backstories can be deep and dramatic all the time, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to complain about the results.
Of course, while that had happened not long after the Oblivion Crisis had been resolved, I hadn’t actually been in this body for all that long. Precisely one month as of midnight last night, which just so happens to have been precisely the exact moment that Aravel and his two friends had broken into the shop last night. What a remarkable coincidence that was! I’m sure whatever divine power(s) was responsible for my presence here had nothing to do with that!
Truly, sarcasm was the great gift of God to man.
Sarcasm and sex.
There were probably a few others, but meh.
At any rate, I didn’t really have the time to ruminate on my backstory -nor the implications, if it was complete and unchanged to what I had created- because I had far more immediate concerns on my mind.
Because, unless things were terribly different from the game, the fact that Aravel and his cronies had tried to rob the shop last night meant that Alduin was due to return to Nirn and attack Helgen sometime today. Which was one hell of a problem for everyone in this god-damn postal code -not that Skyrim had those, which was a damn shame, because they really were quite useful- and was most especially a problem for those living in Helgen. Unless I could somehow convince Tullius to send the townspeople into the Keep undercroft, which would take some doing given that I was a complete unknown, a lot of innocent people were going to die today. And, for that matter, a lot of damn fine soldiers. Soldiers that would be needed for the conflicts to come, against Stormcloaks, bandits, vampires, cultists, and -especially- the Aldmeri Dominion alike.
Not to mention, they would probably come in handy with the whole ‘dragons being resurrected and trying to revive their ancient empire and/or consume all of creation so that the gods can start over and we really need to stop them’ thing that was the main thrust of the game. Sure, the civil war was an issue, and one that I hoped would be resolved rather more expediently in real life than in the game -seriously, Tullius, the rebel leader is right fucking there and you let your subordinate try to execute someone who literally wasn’t on the list first? Literal plot armor!- , but Alduin was the penultimate threat of this era, shortly thereafter followed by the genocidal elves that were trying to turn themselves back into gods and were happy to get the rest of creation killed to do it.
Of course, it was hard to plan for Alduin’s defeat when I didn’t even know if I was the damn Dragonborn, which was another reason I was going to Helgen. If there was some random guy -or girl, hopefully, a very pretty one- in the cart with Lokil and the Stormcloaks, I’d have my answer. As it was, I could really only wonder and try to plan as vaguely and flexibly as possible.
If I wasn't the Dragonborn, then I'd have to ingratiate myself with whoever was, hope that they weren’t a complete lunatic, and somehow convince them that I knew the future and that they should listen to me. That conversation would go well, I was sure. "Hey there, chosen one, literal demigod? Yeah, hi. Listen, I'm from another world where your life is a video game, and I know all about the dragons that are about to return and destroy everything! Want to team up?" Yeah, that would get me thrown in the nearest asylum. If Skyrim even had those. Which I rather doubted, so I’d probably actually just get stabbed or something, and that would be one hell of a downer, wouldn’t it?
And if I was the Dragonborn? Well, that was both better and worse. Better because I'd have some agency in this mess. Plus, I would have a whole lot of really awesome powers and essentially be a demi-god. That was cool.
Worse because it would mean I was about to be dragged into every single world-ending crisis that Skyrim had to offer, and there were a frankly ridiculous number of those. The vampires trying to blot out the sun, the cultists worshipping Miraak, the civil war that was tearing the province apart, the Forsworn uprising, the return of the Dark Brotherhood, and that was just off the top of my head. Not to mention all the smaller catastrophes that seemed to crop up every time you turned around in this place. And then you involve the rest of Tamriel and, probably, Nirn itself.
Oh yeah. Lots of upsides and downsides there.
A brief flattening of the path drew me from my thoughts, and I looked round before smiling briefly. The Three Standing Stones. The Warrior, The Mage, and The Thief. Which, as I had confirmed almost immediately after my, hmm, arrival, did actually function as advertised. Sure, you could only benefit from the effects of one at a time, much as in the game itself, but I had noticed my already-impressive sword techniques improving with remarkable speed under the influence of The Warrior. And it had certainly done both of my sisters some good, even if Lucia -the Lucan Valerius of the world, which had been one of the first hints that canon was at least partially out the window- had eventually opted for The Mage instead.
Not much for swords and shields, was Lucia.
Resuming my walk, I turned my thoughts to the only other deviations I knew existed. The fact that everyone was more attractive than they were in-game went without saying, given that they were actually real people instead of pixels from an admittedly very old game engine and creation kit.
Seriously, Bethesda had needed to retire that shit after Skyrim, or even before it, never mind the games that came after it.
Anyway, deviations.
Riverwood had been a bit different, with the Riverwood Cottage -sealed up tight and advertised as purchasable for…considerably more gold than I was willing to spend on a home in a village I already had a home in- and a few other, more minor differences.
No slaves, sexual or otherwise, to be found anywhere, but whether that particular ‘deviation’ wasn’t in this world or simply wasn’t here in Riverwood, I couldn’t say yet. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, no matter which was the case. There were…considerable arguments to be made for both sides.
I frowned faintly, drumming the fingers of my left hand lightly on the pommel of my sword as another thought occurred. Depending on what deviations were present…no, let’s be honest. Depending on what mods were active in this world, I could find myself dealing with very different sorts of allies and enemies compared to the canon game. Of course, I didn’t have much in the way of proof that this world was ‘modded’, besides Riverwood Cottage and a handful of other tiny things, but I also couldn’t assume that it wasn’t. After all, if The Powers That Be could make me my own video game character, as he had been in the game, than it was just as possible they made this entire world ‘like the game’ as well.
I sighed in mingled relief and fear as the walls of Helgen finally came into view. No Alduin yet, which meant I might actually have some time to get a read on the situation and, better still, try to save some lives. A lot of lives, actually, even if I had no clue on God’s green Earth (or should that be Lorkhan’s green Nirn?) how I was going to accomplish that. I hardly had the authority or the reputation required to force the issue, after all.
But, no matter how difficult the task might seem, I'd have to find a way. I couldn't just stand by and watch people die when I knew what was coming. Not without doing the very best I could to save as many as possible.
As I approached the gates, I could see Imperial soldiers milling about, looking more alert than usual. The cart procession hadn't arrived yet, given they weren’t closed, barred, and covered in vigilant Legionnaires. Which meant I had at least a little bit of time. How much? Impossible to say. At least I’d be able to hear Alduin coming, he wasn’t exactly quiet when he was bellowing towards the start.
"Ho there, traveller!" a guard called out as I neared, a man that screamed ‘grizzled veteran’ to me. "State your business here, if you please!"
I adopted my most charming smile, the one that had gotten me out of more than a few sticky situations and into a few others. Benefits of that vampiric charisma could hardly be overstated. "Constantine Valerius, merchant from Riverwood. Here to discuss some potential trade opportunities." The lie came easily enough, though the guard's narrowed eyes suggested he wasn't entirely convinced.
"Another merchant? Strange timing." He gave me a once-over, his gaze gliding over the well-maintained full-plate and clearly-quality bastard sword. Not standard merchant equipment, and he remarked as much.
“The roads are dangerous these days, my friend, with Stormcloaks, bandits, and worse running about in the woods and mountains. Fortune favors the prepared, no? Especially as close to the border with The Rift and it’s Stormcloaks as we are here.” I shrugged with a casual calm that wasn’t entirely genuine, even if my words were. After all, Helgen was fairly close to the Riften border, on the grand scheme of things, and I was well aware of the fact that the ambush that had captured Ulfric had occurred just outside Darkwater Crossing, which was damn near the middle of The Rift. How they had managed to get the man and his guards all the way to Helgen, past Ivarstead, several bandit groups, and a couple of Stormcloak camps, I had no idea, but I was willing to bet that they hadn’t moved across that sort of a distance entirely unnoticed.
The guard's expression remained skeptical, but after a moment he stepped aside with a grunt. "Aye, well, can't argue with that logic. Mind you keep clear of the eastern quarter - we've got some... administrative business to attend to shortly."
Administrative business. What a delightfully sanitized way to describe a civil-war-ending execution of a Jarl and his personal guards. I nodded my understanding and stepped forward again, making my way through the gate before looking around with unfeigned curiosity. It was the first time that I had been here, after all, more interested in getting used to my new body and it’s skills or foibles for the last month, rather than sight-seeing.
Helgen was considerably larger than it was in the game, unsurprisingly perhaps, about the size of Riverwood without including the keep or the other fortifications. A truly fortified town, instead of a small handful of buildings and a couple of towers.
The cobblestone streets were well-maintained, flanked by sturdy timber and stone buildings that spoke of Imperial engineering at its most practical, all in fine shape considering the less-than-gentle weather they would be subjected to this far up the mountainside. Smoke rose from chimneys in lazy spirals, and I could hear the distant sounds of daily life in a world such as this: the clang of a blacksmith's hammer, the lowing of cattle from what must be a stable yard, the chatter of voices from what I assumed was a tavern or inn. All perfectly normal sounds, easily heard with the enhanced senses of a predator such as myself, that would soon be replaced by screams of horror and the roars of Thu’um.
I started to wander, never quite in the direction of the execution area, but certainly never away from it either, straining to pierce the cacophony around me for the sound of a caravan of prisoner-laden carts. I couldn’t hear them yet, and the civilians were still rather relaxed for a group of people that were going to be witnessing the execution of a traitorous Jarl. Even most of hte soldiers didn’t seem all that tense, and I had to wonder why. Were they too young and inexperienced to understand the consequences of today’s plans, or were they being kept in the dark to prevent any spies or sympathizers from cooking something up?
Both seemed likely, knowing what I did of Imperial command structure and their general paranoia regarding information security. After all, if word of Ulfric's capture and impending execution leaked to the wrong ears, they could find themselves facing a rescue attempt or worse—a full assault on the town. The Stormcloaks might be rebels, but they weren't cowards, and many would gladly die to save their beloved Jarl.
Hmm, come to think of it, that might be how I would be able to get the women and children, if no one else, into the safety of the keep. Tullius would want witnesses, of course, but he might be practical enough to plan for the off-chance of a Stormcloak attack and have the non-combatants well out of harm’s way. Of course, now I had to figure out how to present that particular plan, but…
“Well now, if it isn’t Constantine of the Valerii.” a familiar voice greeted, breaking into my thoughts, and I looked up with a smile to see Hadvar. Not someone I was particularly close with, he had only been back to Riverwood two or three times since ‘I’ had moved their with ‘my’ sisters, and not at all since I had taken control of this body, but he and Constantine did know one another well enough from his visits.
If nothing else, he knew that I supported the Imperials far more than I supported the Stormcloaks.
“Hadvar, glad to see that you’re still alive and seemingly unmaimed. One your way home for a visit? Gerdur will be thrilled, I’m sure.” I responded, my voice taking on a teasing lilt towards the end, and I delighted in the faint blush that stained his cheeks. The words had slipped out unconsciously, an unintentional reference to a particular firm piece of headcanon, but it seemed to also be a legitimized piece of headcanon. Man, I had to get those two together. NTR was a trash fetish, but Hod was a prick and I was a sucker for childhood romances. Besides, it wasn’t NTR if the woman’s husband was cheating on her, and I was fully convinced that Hod would be a cheater ‘in real life’ given the comments he made in game.
“Constantine, please, she’s married.” he groaned, and I shrugged before clapping him firmly on the shoulder.
“And Hod is an asshole with a wandering eye that lets her do all the work running the mill and the town alike. She deserves better than that, I think you’ll agree.” I retorted, earning a begrudging grunt of acknowledgement from the man, before shrugging again. “At any rate, what’s afoot? If you were coming in from Solitude to visit, you’d have gone through Whiterun and be in Riverwood already. And weren’t you assigned to Tullius’ guard? Congratulations on that, by the way.”
Hadvar's expression grew more serious, his shoulders straightening with military bearing. "Thank you. And you're right, I'm not here for a visit, not this time." He glanced around, then leaned closer, lowering his voice. "General Tullius is here on important business. We captured someone significant—I can't say who, but..." He paused, studying my face carefully. "Let's just say the civil war might be coming to an end sooner than anyone expected."
I nodded gravely, though inwardly I was considering what I had just been told, even if it hadn’t been in so many words. If Hadvar was being deliberately vague, it meant the information was still classified. Good—that gave me a bit more time before the execution began. "I see. Well, I certainly hope it ends soon. This province has bled enough., and we all have far greater and more legitimate enemies to concern ourselves with." The words were sincere, even if my reasons for saying them were more complex than he could know. Of course, I honestly had to wonder if he was trying to tell me without telling me, because saying that they had captured someone important and that it might end the war early made it pretty obvious for even the moderately intelligent that Ulfric was the capture in question.
Not that I was going to point that out to him, of course. Polite fiction or genuine attempt at disguising the truth of the matter, it would be really quite rude of me -not to mention having potentially unpleasant consequences- to be too direct about things.
"Agreed." He straightened, smiling with something like relief in his eyes. “I was sent on ahead of the rest of his guard to make sure the town was ready. In fact, if you’d like to come with me, we’re supposed to start collecting people and taking them towards the eastern quarter of the town.”
“Oh?” I arched an eyebrow and fell into step beside him as he turned and started walking. “I was told when I arrived to avoid that area. Administrative business, the man said.”
“Ha! Well, how is that for a euphemism. Well, regardless, you’re with me and I’m giving you permission, so come along and make yourself useful with that loud voice of yours.” he barked a short, harsh laugh, shaking his head, and I scoffed in response.
“Loud, says you. Commanding and powerful, says I.”
“Of course you do. Now stop talking to me and start talking to the public, we have work to do, you and I.”
Grumbling playfully about the fact that I wasn’t a serving member of the Imperial Legion and that I didn’t take orders from young bucks any longer, even if they were fancy Optio now, I nonetheless started summoning the public to the would-be execution of one Ulfric Stormcloak. Hopefully, there would be no more surprises and I would be able to save some lives.
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Elisif, once of Bruma, now jarlskona of Haafingaar and widow of High-King Torygg, didn’t entirely know what to make of the man that Optio Hadvar had introduced -from a respectful distance, of course- to her as Constantine Valerius. Oh, a few things were immediately obvious to her, not least of which is that the armor he was wearing and the sword he was bearing weren’t remotely for show. Likewise, it was quite obvious that he was a very, very good looking man. The sort of man that made women swoon just by walking past them in the street, and the sort of man that could carry them to safety once they had.
She was ashamed to admit it, but Torygg had never looked the way that Constantine did. He hadn't been a weak or a small man, far from it, but Constantine…he was more than any man she had ever seen or met. Seven feet tall if he was an inch, broad-shouldered and so powerfully built he wouldn't be surprised if he could have easily picked up Legate Rikke, armor and all, and hefted her over his head like a log. Which was a hell of a feat for an Imperial man, which he very clearly was even without his claim of being from Skingrad. His armor, the full-plate armor that he moved in like it was leather, was of a quality that spoke of wealth and of a condition that spoke to great use. His hair was perhaps the least spectacular thing about him, the same rich coal-black of most Imperials, but that very typicality was countered by his bronze-and-gold-colored eyes, which were entrancing in a way that she hadn't imagined was possible outside of a romance novel.
Yet as…impactful as all that was, it was the way he looked at her that left her feeling somewhat adrift. It wasn’t disrespectful, of course, and the first thing he had done is offer sincere condolences for the loss of her husband, despite how clear it was he appreciated her beauty. But it wasn’t just appreciation of her beauty or pity for her loss. There was more to his eyes, more to his gaze and voice, than that alone could explain.
She might not be the best at dealing with a life in the court of a High King, especially not when wracked with grief and rage, but if her past had made her good at one thing, it had been reading expressions and tones. And that experience told her that he was surprised…and that he recognized her, on a personal level.
Which made no sense, as she would absolutely remember having met him before. He wasn’t exactly the average man, the average Imperial no less. And, she knew, -as guilty as she felt for the unbidden thought, she knew it was true- that as much as she loved Torygg, as much as she had been swept away by his rough Nordic charm and his feats of strength and his prowess, if he and Constantine had ever stood side by side, Torygg would likely have never received a second look.
“I have to admit,” he suddenly mused loudly enough to be heard, from where he stood to her right side, as they watched her husband’s murderer and his personal guards get unloaded from their carts and lined up before the block. “That as glad as I am to see the end of this suicidal civil war coming to an end, I’m worried for the safety of the people of Helgen.”
“What do you mean, Constantine?” she asked curiously, looking over at him. Which took some doing, given that her loyal huskarl Bolgeir Bearclaw, Legate Rikke -whom, come to think of it, Constantine had also been giving those strange looks of almost-recognition-, and two evocati separated the two of them.
“I mean that, if the ambush happened just outside Darkwater Crossing in the Rift, they’ve traveled half the width of a Stormcloak Hold, one known for it's corruption and the presence of undesirable elements, on whose border is not far from where we stand now.” he explained, shaking his head with an expression on his face that was rather familiar, given how often she had seen it on Tullius or Rikke or Bolgeir. In fact, Rikke and Bolgeir were starting to get it now, the longer he talked. “The Stormcloaks have to know that we’ve captured their master, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they had plans to get him back at all costs. These grounds are on the far side of the town from the keep, if the rebels launch an assault…”
“…Legate Rikke?” Elisif turned her attention to Tullius’ second in command, and the beautiful -if a bit rugged- Nordic legionnaire frowned deeply as she visibly considered the situation before abrutply, and without a word, making her way over to General Tullius. There was a quick, somewhat heated conversation, of which Elisif only caught a few words -which was more than enough to know the gist of both sides’ arguments- before the General made an aggrieved waving motion with his hand and made a final remark.
“People of Helgen.” Rikke raised her voice, turning to regard the watching townspeople. “As you know, the traitorous Ulfric jarl is about to face justice for his crimes against the Empire and the people of Skyrim. The head of every household is to remain and bear witness to the Emperor’s Justice, while their spouses and children are to collect their most portable valuables and make their way into the keep itself. Should the rebels launch an attack to rescue their leader, you will remain there in safety until the attack has been beaten back. You have ten minutes.”
Those ten minutes moved quickly, and the first two executions -a pair of men that had deserted their Legion to join the rebellion, killing several of their comrades in the effort and delivering intelligence to the Stormcloaks that had killed many more- went even quicker. Understandably, since Tullius would want to ‘take out his trash’ first, as the saying went, before dealing with Ulfric.
She listened to General Tullius calmly, evenly, condemn Ulfric Stormcloak as both a man and a Nord, absently noting that Legate Rikke -now beside her once again- must have coached him on some of the Nord-specific chastisements and verbal eviscerations. He had never struck her as the type to spend time looking them up for himself, simply because it wouldn't help him accomplish his mission. He was a very direct man, was General Tullius, and unfortunately not inclined to try and learn anything about Nordic culture. Which hadn’t done him many favors when it came to the ‘hearts and minds’ aspect of the civil war.
Elisif frowned slightly, her ears catching a faint noise on the wind from the south-east, and glanced over at Constantine as he shifted, his eyes narrowing as he looked in that direction. There was another roll of thunder, timed perfectly to mute the sickening swish and thud of the first Stormcloak losing his head, and his hands clenched for a moment before he started tightening the straps and belts in a way she recognized from her watching the men and women of Haafingaar prepare for battle. A pit began to grow in her stomach as she realized that this experienced man sensed something that had him on edge.
As Ulfric was led to the block, snarling into his gag while his soldiers snapped and bit and snarled, throwing themselves back and forth in the iron-like grips of their captors, the sound was repeated, and this time it was loud enough for Elisif to identify it: a roar. The roar of a great beast, and for it to be so loud…it must be something of great size. Murmurs flowed through the courtyard, every eye, even that of the prisoners, looking for the source of such a sound, even as Tullius urged his soldiers to finish their task. The headsman raised his axe as the traitor was held against the block…and a nightmare swept up and over the nearest cliff-face to land with a crash on the peak of tower, the impact sending everyone in the courtyard reeling, and Elisif had a moment to hear Constantine bellow 'DRAGON' at the top of his lungs and see the blood-eyed, black-scaled monstrosity open it's mouth before a raven-haired wall cocooned her in it's arms and pulled her to the ground.
The world shook, the ground quaked, and the air grew hot and acrid as screams resounded. She quailed instinctively, trying to hide from whatever was happening by burrowing deeper into Constantine's arms. Then she heard a voice, a terrible voice, like the thunder of a landslide, the roar of a waterfall, echoing and booming and crashing through the air so loudly and deeply that she clapped her hands over her ears.
"Raahhh! Pahlok joorre! Hin kah fen kos bonaar!" the dragon, and what could it be but the dragon, thundered with a tone that Elisif could only call dark, cruel anticipation. "Zu'u Al-Du-In! Zok sahrot do naan ko lein!"
"Rikke, Constantine! Get Elisif into the keep! Evacuate the people into the undercroft and the tunnels! Archers, aim for the eyes! Battlemages, focus on the wing joints!" Tullius bellowed from…somewhere, and the vast weight pressing her to the ground shifted, pulling her to her feet as it rose, and she blinked around at the devastation that had ensued in but minutes. The mighty stonework of Helgen's towers and walls was crumbling, the once-clear blue sky now a swirling mass of thick, angry cloud, fire falling from the epicenter to smash wood and stone and bone, and she sobbed in the back of her throat as she saw the dreadfully still, broken body of her dear, loyal Bolgeir.
"Hold tight, jarlskona!" Constantine rumbled, a rumble she could feel even through his armor, as he pulled her into his arms and pressed her against his chest. A legionnaire, a handsome, ungainly young lad that couldn't be more than eighteen years old, stumbled across her field of view, shrieking as he desperately flailed about, trying to put out the flames clinging to him, devouring him. Constantine's large hand, firm and warm, pressed her face into his neck, blinding her, and she accepted the action gratefully, throwing her arms around his neck and holding tight. "Rikke, I'm counting on you, I cannot fight holding her!"
"Leave it to me! Come on!" the legate responded, voice tight as Constantine broke into a long, ground-devouring stride, his grip tight enough and his embrace large enough that she didn't bounce uncomfortably in his arms, only swaying gently in time with the roll of his body. The next eternity was spent listening to him breath, focusing on the cadence, keeping all her attention on his arms around her, his growled words to Rikke, the feeling of his chest expanding and contracting as his lungs filled and emptied.
Focusing on everything but the screaming, the heat, the stench of blood and fire and fear. Blocking it all away, closing her ears as best she could to the ethereal, mystical, rolling thunder of the dragon's voice as it slaughtered the men and women responsible for saving her homeland from itself. Worked harder than she had ever worked on anything to ignore the similarities between the dragon's speech and the words it spoke, and those that tore her brand-new husband apart at the seams before her very eyes.
Then they were inside, surrounded by the terrified babble of the people and the firm, strident voices of the soldiers. Dozens of voices cried out in relief at seeing Rikke and Elisif, voices demanding to know what was happening, if she was alright, if the general was alive.
“Please, Constantine, set me down." She said quietly into his ear, and she felt him hesitate for a moment before he obeyed. Smoothing down her dress and straightening her hair as best she could, trying to ignore the soot and stone-dust and singe marks that stained the once-magnificent fabric. "I'm alright, everyone, thanks to the heroics of Legate Rikke and the honorable Constantine. I'm sorry to say that Helgen is under attack by a dragon. General Tullius and the Prima Cohors is engaging it even now, but we must move into the undercroft of the keep and seek shelter in the caves there, just in case."
"But what about our homes, everything we own?" a voice cried out, a chorus of similar fears echoing, and Elisif held up her hands soothingly, placatingly.
"Never fear, my friends. I will speak with my fellow loyal jarls, and with my cousin-in-marriage, Balgruuf, and seek lodging and employment for all of you. The Empire, and Skyrim, does not abandon it's people when disaster befalls them." She assured, before looking over at Rikke. "Legate, the evacuation?"
“I’ll go first, with a handful of men.” Constantine volunteered before Rikke could open her mouth. “Rikke should stay with you, jarlskona, along with her evocati. Your safety is paramount.”
“…Agreed. Marcus, Trajan, Octavius, Gaius, Livia. You five will join Master Valerius in clearing out path. We’ll follow ten minutes behind you. If we hear fighting when we catch up, I’ll send more men forward to support you.” Rikke acquiesced without a word of protest, though her face said a few complicated things that her voice didn’t. Constantine nodded sharply, drew his sword, and moved forward into the dimly-lit corridors with his new-found subordinates on his heels. Gazing after him, Elisif found herself feeling almost anxious. It was strange, not her usual reaction to danger, and certainly not a reaction she was prone to having over strangers, and yet…
And yet, for some reason and for this man…
She was.
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Alduin's Dovahzul: Arrogant Mortals! Your pride will be humbled! I am Destroyer Devour Master! Greatest and Mightiest of anyone in Mundus!
Comments
HistoricalHijinks
Live Another Life is one of the greatest mods ever invented, hands down and bar none. As for the rest... *grins*
Codeninja676 (Brian)
Welp that answers that, alternative start mod is in effect and it seems our boy is the Dovakiin.
