Jump to content


[Short story] Confession of an Alik'r

short story redguard hammerfell alikr thalmor imperial

  • Please log in to reply
No replies to this topic



    Faithful poster

  • Supporter
  • PipPipPipPip
  • 1,101 posts
The day of judgment on the souls of both theirs and ours, would come sooner than I have hoped it would be. At this very moment, I should be resting, preparing for the coming battle. But I close my eyes, and I see the things in my past, and those images came flashing in my mind, as I arrived at the last stop of my path.
Everyone who remembered me are already dead, and I am the last one standing who still remember the man I once was. Perhaps the person who is strong enough to mark my end and take this from me, would be strong enough to live on, with my story. Perhaps, even, they could bring my memory to see my homeland once more - whatever it will become.
I have to write this all down. I must not let myself be forgotten, nor my crimes be forgiven, for this... The mission in Skyrim shall mark an end for everything, and I would never again see my homeland with my eyes.
When I was a child, I lived in a village near the outskirts of the great Alik'r Desert. Not a day had I not climbed atop that cliff near my village after a day's hard work with my family, admiring the beauty of my homeland, of the yellow sands that have witnessed the history of this ancient, vibrant land I call my home.
In my home, I used to sit on my mother's lap, while she told me a tale she learned from her mother, and her mother her grandmother; of a knight riding on a giant, winged, beautiful beast - a beast who never age, never feel sorrow - to fly in the skies of Tamriel, passing through Hammerfell, High Rock, Cyrodiil, and Skyrim, to bring the children like us to a land that knows no sorrow or loss, one where rivers flow, trees grow - a land where we can all be free and joyful.
I was fascinated with this knight's story, eagerly waited for this hero and his beast to come and bring me to that promised land. I have wondered - would that land be even more beautiful than the Alik'r Desert? Would I be too absorbed by that land's joy, that I no longer want to return to my home?
As I grew older, I had slowly become more, and more, occupied by the difficulties and confusions of adulthood, and, in the end, forgot the story completely. I started to worry about my village's crops, about chasing the woman of my dreams, about making deals with the traders in the cities for a slightly higher price for our produce.
I have kept living in that village, which, the beauty of the land eventually became an image that bored me everyday, for with the scene of the Great Alik'r Desert, accompanied always the carriage from the city, that was to take our crops and give us a purse of gold, or to sell supplies of all sorts to our village. The scene of the Alik'r Desert... became something that was associated with my family's business - the worries I shared with my father every day.
But everything changed, on the day when a magnificent, winged, giant creature soared above me, flew to the cliff I have always climbed on as a child; the creature was emitting a vibrant, fiery color, one that was both my joy and worries - gold. And, without looking back, the winged beast passed through my village, straight into the heart of the Alik'r Desert. It was then, I was reminded of the story that was told to me when I was much, much younger.
Was it here to save me? The creature that brings joy and scorches everyone's sorrow, to my rescue, to bring me out of that boring, repetitive, pointless everyday-life?
From a distance, I could still see the creature's movement, for it was indeed a giant beauty. The great beast became grounded at a sandy hill, its beak near the ground, as it began smelling the land itself. So, so fascinated by its elegant movement, I dropped my hoe and ran to the beast. I knew it was not possible, but I still had hope that... it was indeed the creature from my mother's story, that it could free me from this life of endless farming, eternal chasing of a girl who might not even feel for me the same way - a world without a meaningful future for me.
I observed the creature from a distance, despite having come closer than I was. The child's story drove me to chase the creature, but I could not go anymore closer to the beast; I feared, with the sense of an adult, that it would suddenly find out my presence, and do what most other beasts on Tamriel would.
But as the creature soared to the sky, leaving our village behind, I found myself... blindly chasing the beast, to wherever it may lead me. I could not give up the chance to a new life, even if it was so, so silly for an adult to believe in those stories, that the beast was truly the one to bring the children to a new paradise, that it could... save me, and lead me to a life that is joyful, without problems, and... new.
I followed, ran and ran, in the beast's direction. For as long as it had flown, had I run without even knowing exhaustion. Until an hour later, when it finally stopped, atop the sea. I looked to the horizon, the sea that was beneath the creature. A new life, one of joy and cheers, just beneath-
It was then, I saw clearly what that beast was. In the skies, guiding dozens and dozens of ships to the shores of Hammerfell, all flying the same flag, chanting the same name, wearing the same sigil-
The Flaming, Golden Eagle.
I guess, in the end, it did lead me to a new life, and took away all my problems. I watched the Eagle scorch the city, from where the carriage came to my village to take away the crops everyday; the stores which sold the supplies were all sacked or burned, the traders who wore those cheery masks when they handed me the gold and took the produce, came to wear the same face - one of terror, hopelessness, fear - as they burned beneath the Eagle's flames, twisted and deformed by the heat and desperation - and finally, perished before the Eagles, whose feathers seemed to be golden, but were in truth all black.
The Eagle did not stop at the city. Soon, it made its way to the next location - the village I have called home. And so, those Eagles in black-gold, who, like I once did, followed that creature into that place I made home at. They pillaged the farm and slaughtered every villager in front of my eyes; papa, mama, and the girl I had been after, all became an addition to the pile of corpses which fed the crows that came later.
I watched, paralyzed and undetected, that the Eagle and the Eagles removed all my sources of problems, within a mere matter of hours; and when they had had it their way, got what they have come for, they left we with this new life, this new land. One that was burned, barren; a place of desolation, fear.
The paradise that the beast offered. A desert which lost the yellow, and became red instead.
From that moment, I had come to realize the wrong of my wishes. I dreamed of a world, where my life would begin anew in eternal joy and laughter, no longer bothered by those repetitive, daily tasks which had become my pain, annoyance, boredom. But the reality is... That life of happiness was not meant for me, or anyone who live in these mortal, fragile bodies. We were meant for conflicts, for violence; for hatred towards the enemies, and vengeance against those who have wronged us and ours.
Then, I made my wish again, to another giant, winged beast - that I would have the blood of those who destroyed my home, that I would see the red beneath their yellow, fine, thin skin, like how they spilled my family's blood on the sands of the Alik'r.
Unlike the Flaming Eagle, this time, I could see the man who rode that red, magnificent beast. The hero who was truly supposed to bring us all our salvation, as implied in his name.
It was then, I realized - the tale had always been true, only that I had recognized the wrong creature, wearing the wrong color. It was never supposed to be a golden eagle who brings joy, but a red dragon that slays those who bring misery. A dragon which flames will burn the villains, a beast which skin will be painted in the blood of his nemesis. Peace and joy were a dream, we must fight, pave a way and forge a future as we saw fit.
As they have sung about this "Great" War we fought, decades later - "...The Eagle soars, its talons sharp; the Dragon rises, its flame burns the dark. And the young sailor fell to the Abecean, as his bride awaited for her champion..."
The most glorious battle, above a world of water which tasted like salt - an environment I had never believed truly existed, until I finally left that desert of a homeland. I unsheathed my weapon - the first gift the hero gave the each of us - a sword which blade was carved with that dragon's shape.
I held the sword tightly, both my hands shivering, as the Eagle soared again, leading the ships from a far away land, prepared to burn the brothers and sisters I came to hold dear - just like it did my family back then.
Except this time, I was no longer alone. I had the hero, and the dragon he rode - with each of us, each of his Legion being the Dragon's scale, ready to defend the giant, winged creature that had become our sole dream and ideal.
I looked at my weapon, and I saw a reflection of myself - a face of eagerness for revenge, and of bloodlust, of wrath... Of the sorrow and pain that came from loss. Then, I saw the shape of the Dragon on that sharp, clean, colorless blade. I was the weapon in my hand, blessed with courage and strength by the beast I had wished to; I stopped my hands from shivering, for I would, soon, paint this beast with red, and have my anger satiated, as they both should be.
I looked upon the hero, as he gave his commands. The great sea battle began, and we threw away our blood, hoping to exchange that of our enemies. At that moment, all I could think of, all that occupied my mind, were the burning, twisted faces of terror those traders showed in their last moments, and the smiles that had been taken away in my village; then, I heard the sounds of the enemy ships' cannons, those which blasted our comrades' vessels into pieces. Anger filled my whole soul, I fought, I bled, without any remorse - not only for my homeland, but also for the larger cause that the Dragon and its rider had blessed me with.
It was a moment of every warrior's dreams, of all patriots' wishes. We spilled their blood as they spilled ours, painting the Abecean with the red that ran our veins. Yet, at the heat of the battle, the Eagle evaded our every arrow, and arrived before the Dragon. It was then, I finally saw the rider of the Eagle herself - a masked woman, dressed in all black and gold, just as her followers the Eagles were. But unlike the hero, who guided the Dragon to its path with wisdom and inspiration, the woman sat on the Eagle's saddle, using her sorcery to tame, control the Eagle, while the Eagles followed her blindly, just like I once did.
The Eagle's talons had cast the hero from the Dragon's back. The hero managed to climb back on, and led the great beast to bite back at the opponent, teeth in the Eagle's flesh, tearing its wings apart. The Eagle fell from the sky, and the hero led the Dragon to press the attack, with the goal - the dream and purpose of every men and women that were the scales of the Dragon - to slay this winged, giant, flaming beast once and for all.
Yet, the Dragon turned its head, grabbed the hero with its teeth, and threw him into a golden cage. The mighty red creature descended upon the Eagle, not only to lick its wounds, but also to guide it to the land I once called home - the land which was the purpose I followed the Dragon, in the first place; then, pieces by pieces, the Eagle removed the Dragon's scale, cut off its wings, until it became naked, soft - humiliated by the Eagle and its rider.
I lost the hero. I lost my comrades. I lost the mighty, red dragon that was the source of my pride and hope, which, in the end, chose to let misery and pain come to the land I hoped it would free and restore joy to; to forsake the men and women who gave their lives to become the beast's scales, allowing the Eagle to tear them off and have its way with them.
The Dragon was not the creature I believed it was, nor was its rider - the man I once thought to be my salvation, yet allowed the creature to wither and succumb - the hero.
I left his side, before the Eagle could tear me off as well. I traveled alone, in a land which name I fought for, yet was never granted the luxury to explore.
Near a city where two heroes once defended the world from a God, as if nostalgia had kicked in, I climbed up a cliff, my mind occupied with thoughts and confusions, not realizing that climbing up a cliff had become much easier than when I was the child. I reached its endpoint, and stopped, thought to myself - perhaps, there was never a hero, nor a creature he would have mounted, that the stories were only lies to give the children hope for the future - a future that is grim, hopeless.
I looked down from the cliff, realizing it had always been so easy, for me to end these struggles, to leave all my problems and sorrow behind.
But those faces appeared again. Of the traders and villagers. Of the girl I once loved. Of my father and mother. Not in terror, fear, or sorrow, but... of different faces. I saw them again, in my childhood - the traders would wear their smiling faces, ignore me and head straight to my father, while my father would smile back at them, as he moved the crops to the carriage, and afterwards took the coin purse from them; then, he would revert to his own grumpy, annoyed self, yell at my mother about the dinner being still unready, then call the other villagers to the inn, for a round of Nordic Mead - he would get totally drunk within three rounds, drunk enough to drop the spoon when he tried to have dinner afterwards; then, he would wake up to a hangover that would last until next day's noon.
My mother would scold him for giving her more housework than needed, yet, she would be so patient with him, and clean up all the messes my drunken father had made; she would swear, and smile, as I played with the girl, whom I grew up with and later fell for. We ran around the village, causing every other villager to curse at us; then climbed up the cliff together, and watched the sun sets on the horizon, giving Hammerfell one last touch of warmth, before it was replaced by the cold, dark night of the Alik'r Desert.
I looked into the girl's eyes, and the girl before me had already become an adult, just like I had. I touched her face, like how I had always wanted, dreamed, but never brave enough to try. I leaned closer to her, my forehead touching hers, and our lips only a few inches away.
I closed my eyes, fearing that all these were just a dream, while hoping all these to be real - that papa and mama were still yelling at each other, but smiling behind each other's back; that the traders were still coming everyday, to bore myself to the end - that the Eagle, Dragon were all just a dream I made, a flash of thoughts that crossed my mind as I panicked before the girl I had a crush on-
But I opened my eyes, and saw only the cliff.
Fearing, panicking, I immediately closed my eyes again, hoping that in darkness, my home would appear once more - even if it was just an illusion for a slight comfort. Then I opened my eyes, closed them again, then opened again, closed yet again... Eventually, I was forced to understand, that the place I saw as home no longer existed, and the people who once loved or annoyed me were all gone now. Those claimed by the Eagle, and those abandoned by the Dragon.
First a dream that was a lie, then a hope taken away by those who were supposed to fulfill it. I had come to understand that we could not dream anymore. There was no hero, nor his mount; and in truth, there has only ever been two ways for me - death, or fight to free my land, my people... and myself.
I returned to Hammerfell, my home, after what became to me an eternity. The Eagle was still pressing, lusting after our homeland's control - the reason why they would spill blood on our sands, bring conflicts and bloodshed to the entire continent. If I am to avenge my family and those I cared about, to restore this land and cast away the source of her miseries, then the Eagle must not take what it came for. I would slay it, before I drown it it in the red, dark rivers that it desired so.
The Forebears, one of the two factions that ruled Hammerfell before the Eagle came to be, embraced me with open arms. It was with the Forebears, that I learned there were many, many like me, who rode on the Dragon, fought and bled on a foreign land in the name of His Imperial Majesty, with the false hope I once had about that beast. I was not alone, nor was I different. My story was that of the Redguard people, of the land I saw as home; a story that every man and woman in Hammerfell had experienced, and a story that would continue, if the Eagle lived on.
I fought alongside my comrades against the Eagle, enduring its flames and resisting its gold. This time, I - we - do not fight for someone else anymore. We would fight in the name of Hammerfell, in the memory of our fathers, mothers, children, friends, loved ones - those who had fallen before the Eagle's flames and talons, those who could not live to this day and see what monsters we had become.
And, this time, I would not be so foolish to believe in a single hero or his beast again. I believed only in myself, and in the goal that saved me from the cliff.
In the end, without the Dragon's flames and claws, we stood against the Eagle alone, and gained victory, at the cost of thousands of young Redguard men who would have been our people's legacy. Yet, at this very moment of victory, the other faction that ruled Hammerfell - the Crowns - had returned from the civil war of Cyrodiil, which they fought in another foreign lord's support, while their own country burned in flames and her rivers ran with our people's blood. These deserters fled from their land, then fled from the foreign lord again, to the land they once abandoned.
The Crowns were few, and we had the control of most of Hammerfell. Those traitors were shunned upon, in no position to threaten us. As the new single power in Hammerfell, our goal changed; from protecting our lands and families from the Eagle's grasping talons, to holding the authority we had established in our land. To rule and tax her people, to make the law and order as we saw fit, to protect the very, very own interests of the Forebears, from the Crowns themselves - from our fellow Redguards.
But I had never believed in the Forebears' cause, if there ever was one. After the Eagle and the Dragon, not anymore. Whatever they needed me to do, I did without questions, for their motives were never of my concerns, and only with them, could I survive. Ideals, motives, causes - all just pretty speeches and big words, empty, idle promises, to lure young men such as I to fight and bleed in their stead. The Eagle, the Dragon, and the Forebears.
It did not surprise me, when the Forebears' leaders were all suddenly assassinated overnight, and the Crowns took over the next day. They all had it coming, and I would pay no sympathy to their deaths. The Forebears, hence, fell into chaos. One by one, our holds and camps were wiped out by the Crowns, until a scattering, dwindling number remained by my leader's side. I could have left them, yet, the Forebears had become my home, a place where my new family had chosen to stay... And this time, I would not leave my family behind. Not again.
The last of the Forebears searched of a place where the Crowns had not yet reached, and in the end, they found one. In that place of destiny - my home - that village at the outskirts of the Great Alik'r Desert.
It was at the noon of night. The Eagles had already left, leaving a desolation of ruined houses, burned farmlands, and the crows which circled above the village, as if its new comers were soon to be their feast, just as those who lived here a dozen years ago.
The others of the Forebears sat by a house's hearth, lit up by a spell. They sat there, confused, terrified; without a cause, without guidance. Some prayed, others simply shivered, while our leader stood outside the house, watching for any suspicious movement outside, and if there were still other Forebears to come.
I grabbed a broken chair, immediately recognizing that to be the one which my mother used to sit on, while she told me the stories about the hero and his mount. I cleaned it up a little, then found some tools in my father's old box to fix the chair, so that it could look the way it used to be, when mama was still sitting there. After an hour, the chair was good as new. I touched its handle, looked at it for a few minutes.
Then, I closed my eyes, hoping, for one last time, that I could see at least my mother once more.
I opened my eyes again, yet all I could see, was a vision of the chair blurred by tears, of a village changed forever by an Eagle, of a people marked for eternity by war and contempt, in the chase of their own ideals and visions of a world.
I stayed with the chair for one last moment, then left for the house where the other Forebears had gathered, never sitting on it.
The last of the Forebears gathered, arriving from different safe shelters around Hammerfell. A few dozens of warriors and mages-alike sat in that old house, searching for a new purpose, a new name, for the title "Forebear" represented a failure that lost the whole country to the Crowns.
I walked outside, to our leader, the man who lost his father and mother to the Eagle, and his wife and sister to the Crowns. He was holding in his arms that last gift from his wife - their infant daughter - for a short while, before he had to put her back in the house for warmth and care.
He was gazing upon the Alik'r Desert, in the way that it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. I joined him, admired her beauty for the first time since that day, as I told him about my past, my story, and the time when I used to live here. The moonlight in his eyes became brighter, and brighter, as I reminded him of his own past, his own story; of an ideal we thought we could believe in, when in truth it was just a story used by those in power; of a family we did not remember to love, when we still had one; of a life we did not know to cherish, when it was in truth the most precious thing.
I asked him what shall become of the Forebears. He gazed upon the Alik'r again, and asked me one last question - what I, as a man, believed was the greatest thing on Nirn.
I answered just what I believed in.
And so, in the ashes of the Forebears and the red sands of a desert, the Alik'r Warriors were born. My family, my comrades.
My own belief, without the influence from any hero.
We shall be Redguards, the warriors and mages who guard this land painted with red. We shall do all we could to protect our only family from the rest of the world, from those who seek to harm us and separate us from each other again, even if it meant doing immoral, harmful deeds; so long as it allowed us to stay together, to... survive, and continue the struggle in this world.
The attacks, assassinations on the Crowns began. Riots and chaos were spawned in cities where the Crowns controlled. Treasuries were sacked, all who stood in the way were seen as the Crowns' colluders, and executed. In that cruel world we lived in, to be able to consider mercy is a luxury - one we did not have.
It went on a few years, until an unexpected person arrived at one of our underground bases. He showed my leader a sigil, one which shape was once the most important thing to me - of the beast which rider I thought would be my salvation. Then its rider, now the brain of the Dragon itself. Yet this person was not him, but merely his messenger. It did not feel good, but was logical - how would a high and noble champion such as himself even come down to find a group of... mercenaries?
After all, that "champion" no longer needed to keep up the acts before us.
He had received news of what we did to the Crowns, and he would like to aid our cause, for in truth, the Crowns and the foreign lord they had fought for, were both secret assets of the Eagle. So long as the Crowns lingered at Hammerfell, the Eagle would always have a foothold in our homeland. He could not allow this to happen, and believed that neither could we.
The man's ideals and courage no longer spoke a word to any of us, for we had seen its falsehood. The messenger, realizing this, used a far more convincing persuasion approach. A carriage of gold, blueprints, ores, and herbs. We would expand to be a force that could rival the Crowns again, and at the same time, we would, in the shadows, serve the Dragon once more.
And so, we took this foreign gold from a foreign lord, to fight for his pretty, empty ideal, just like the Crowns once did for their own lord.
For one more time, the fight against the Eagle was resumed. We recruited more people than ever, and soon, fueled by our hatred and the Dragon's gold, we were able to engage the Crowns in open battle again. Cities were taken, holds established, and our reign had returned - no longer flying the flag of the Forebears, but of the Alik'r Desert and its red sands.
But one day, the gold simply stopped coming from Cyrodiil, and the man never showed up again. Some say he was last seen in a port city of Skyrim, but regardless of his location, I could be certain of one thing - the Dragon had abandoned us, yet again.
Enraged, we began attacking the cities of Cyrodiil, killing nobles that were loyal to the Dragon, and eventually, crossing the water where I once fought on for the Dragon, to impale the heart of the Eagle itself.
That place's name was Firsthold.
I picked a warrior I commanded - a man who had barely reached his adulthood, never even tasted the sweetness of love - to come with me, sneak into the city's inn, to deliver a message to that woman who rode the Eagle. The Eagle had spilled blood on our sands, so we would do the same on their own lands, with their own people's blood.
Twelve young souls, with yellow, fine, thin skin. I saw the rage, the hatred... the sorrow, in his eyes, when he killed them all - the same emotions that were once reflected on my sword, when I fought at the Abecean Sea for the first time. In sending him to his mission, I had furthered the cycle of hatred, and ensured that more souls, more young men and elf, would be sent by both sides to slay one another, until one side was truly destroyed.
And then, I saw a young man, who was no older than 15 by the look. A Wood Elf, paralyzed, eyes filled with terror, anger, disbelief - the same man that once stood near the village, when an Eagle came to burn it down, taking away his home, love, and family.
The thirteenth in the inn, the only soul that was not yet claimed by our anger.
My warrior was ready to take him as well, but before his blade could meet that elf's neck, I stopped him. Not for mercy, not for compassion. But it was... because I simply could not watch that raging soldier on the Abecean Sea... to kill that man, who had his peaceful life in a village, seeing the Alik'r Desert everyday.
He insisted to kill the elf. In a brief conflict, I inadvertently smashed his head on the bar table, in so doing, claimed his life.
I... killed me.
Without spending too much time in the inn, I left the enraged warrior and the paralyzed Wood Elf, and took the first ship that sailed Cyrodiil, in where I would hide for a few days, before I heard the news that an Alik'r Warrior had slaughtered twelve elf students by his lonesome, then killed himself.
I returned to Hammerfell, told lies to my leader and comrades about that young warrior's death, that I was never able to enter the inn, due to the warrior poisoning me to make sure I would not share or steal his glory. The story was believed, and I continued using lies to find myself a way to survive.
So many years have passed, since then; not a day, not a night, was my mind not occupied by the faces of the man whom I betrayed and killed in Firsthold, of those young elven students who died in the inn, and of the traders, the villagers, the countless innocents in the graveyard that is Tamriel.
It was in those dreams, I realized - that those beasts I once believed in were not lies of a child's story, but exactly what they were supposed to be all along - for they had made their own definitions of joy and sorrow, and did to their best to bring this world to their own visions, just as I did.
For I, too, was a beast all along.
Now, once again, the Alik'r are under siege by the Crowns, about to be destroyed, once and for all - except this time, we will not be able to choose a new name to start over again. The Eagle's victory has become unavoidable, for the Dragon is too weak to stand against it; the Bretons have willingly embraced the Eagle, believing it has liberated them from the corrupt nobles who enslaved them; Skyrim is shattered, torn apart by its own conflicts, thanks to whatever plan "he" has in stall for the Dragon. But the Dragon is no longer part of my concerns.
The last of the Alik'r leadership have been taken by the Crowns' last attack, thanks to a woman called Iman. I have never expected myself to be the last Alik'r veteran standing, yet the responsibility had fallen to me, to lead our remaining few to a way out - if there is one for the likes of us.
Ironic. We are named the Alik'r Warriors, yet for over five years, I have not seen the Great Alik'r Desert again already. I wonder what has become of my village, if it still dots the outskirts of the Alik'r Desert - has it received some new inhabitants who rebuilt it, or would it remain the ruined relic that was the mark left by the Eagle's flames. Perhaps, just perhaps, it would be removed by the Eagles, to clear space for whichever purpose they saw fit.
After we have evacuated to the mountains, where the Crowns could not follow, I met a mysterious woman, dressed in black, her face masked. Just like I told my story to the Alik'r leader, I told her everything. Trust, lies... No longer meaningful, to a man who is near his end. Then, she shared hers. One of wars, loss, hatred... And in the end, clarity.
I wondered, why I would believe her story. I have believed in a hero riding on a creature to bring happiness, I have believed in a Dragon which flame would burn the dark and grant its followers vengeance; after I found the belief to be nothing but falsehood, I neglected to believe in a cause that all my comrades did, even after they were gone. For two decades, I was without a belief, nor an ideal that was driven by a role model.
Perhaps, in the end, I would place my faith on a stranger who, maybe, understands what I have experienced?
But regardless, if there is still something that is worth believing in... I do hope that I can believe in an afterlife. I know the kind I would like to go. I close my eyes, and recall the story my mother once told me, of the knight who brings children to joy and leaves sorrow behind. If this hero truly exists, if this hero would lead me to my afterlife - please take me to that promised land of joy. Not that land of rainbow and rivers, of tales and trees; but the land, the village, where my mother was sitting by our house's hearth, telling her child your stories, as I looked beyond the window, and saw that great, beautiful, yellow Alik'r Desert.
This story uses lore which I wrote outside the canon of Elder Scrolls itself, with the ground that the events and characters do not contradict established lore in the game, and that they contribute to the narrative.
  1. The "Eagle" represents the Thalmor, and the "Eagles" represent those who believe in the Thalmor ideal - a paradise where everyone who believed them could be free
  2. The "Dragon" represents the Empire, as its flag is a red dragon
  3. The Dragon's rider is a character I created, whose name is "Amulius Salvian", he was first a general of the Imperial Legion, then became the High Chancellor later - hence, the Dragon's "brain"
  4. The "foreign lord" and "civil war in Cyrodiil" are things I created for the lore post-Great War, the foreign lord is the deposed High Chancellor whose name was "Benito Aurelius", who served Titus Mede II's predecessor, but deposed by Titus later; he then colluded with the Thalmor to wage civil war against the Emperor, using unfair post-war reparation taxes as the reason, to bring the people of Cyrodiil to rebel; he also employed the Crowns of Hammerfell to join him, promising that the Thalmor will leave Hammerfell once he becomes the Emperor and signs a new pact with the Thalmor. The very civil war was the reason why the Empire was so difficult to recover, and was forced to lose more and more sovereignty and advantages to the Thalmor
  5. The Eagle's rider is a character I created, the real title goes by "High Archon"; she leads the Thalmor and holds all power of her state; I made her female because it was stated in the Thalmor Embassy's Justiciar whispers, that "Herself had become more and more concerned about Skyrim's dragon, and sent more High Mages to Skyrim"
  6. The Forebears and the Crowns are factions in Elder Scrolls' real lore, after hundreds of years after Arena and one thousand year after The Elder Scrolls Online, they have become much, much different, due to the turmoils in the Fourth Era
  7. The Alik'r's destruction happened before Skyrim's event, according to the story; in Skyrim, their mission was to find out the woman who betrayed the Alik'r to the Crowns and the Thalmor, which led to the Alik'r's destruction; the excuses the player hear from both the Alik'r and this woman were in truth both lies
  8. The Alik'r was depicted to have elements of terrorism, as it would explain why they were unwelcome in Whiterun, which was, for a time, neutral; and that Hammerfell was not at the State of War with the Empire and the Thalmor, making it only possible for the explanation to be that the Alik'r was not an accepted organization even in Hammerfell, and that it was a "common enemy" to the rest of Tamriel
  9. This story is a text which the player picked up after they killed a specific Alik'r NPC, in my mod; the player would give it to either of two followers in the mod, one of them is a Thalmor, and the other is an Imperial Legionnaire. They would reflect differently to the story of the Alik'r
  10. The protagonist of the story is not one of the "big" characters who impacted the history of Tamriel, he is only one of the many "nobodies", like the random thieves and bandits the player encounters; he writes the text, expecting the person to kill him to take his story and live on with his memory, as no one else would remember him once he dies, and he doesn't want to be forgotten forever, like the many before him who died in the wars between the Thalmor and the Empire, the Crowns and the Forebears/Alik'r.

Also tagged with one or more of these keywords: short story, redguard, hammerfell, alikr, thalmor, imperial

IPB skins by Skinbox
Page loaded in: 1.156 seconds