Dreema the Reluctant

[Dreema]

(not everyone wants to be a hero. Not everyone embraces it - the character I play certainly has no idea what she has been thrown into or why, and watching her develop is a fun process.)

 

I was born. I grew up. I did a few things, here and there. That’s as much history as you’ll get for now. The Nords believe that our lives are like a long length of string – these strings can get snarled up with other lives, or tied into knots from past actions. Whatever tangled mess I had made of mine, I managed to find myself in Skyrim. You figure out how a Bosmer ended up in such a gods-forsaken place if you like. And if the cold, trolls, and bigoted Nords weren’t bad enough, I had to get myself captured on the road by Imperials who were rounding up Stormcloaks for execution. Out of the pan and straight into the fire, that’s me. If I hadn’t been travelling with next to nothing I might have been able to slip out and away…but no, I ended up on a wagon being hauled into a village with a bunch of Stormcloaks and THE Stormcloak in particular next to me, gagged and bound. Ulfric Stormcloak himself, caught and tried for murder and high treason. Well, at least I was travelling in esteemed company.

 

I could pretty much see once we got there how things were going to roll out – if I hadn’t been so exhausted I might have laughed at the irony. Execution by beheading – obviously even the Imperials themselves weren’t quite sure what to do with me, a Boiche in the frozen wastes, but I know Imperials; if it isn’t tidy, they eliminate the evidence. No hope, no luck, end of.

 

When my time came to face the block all I could do was stare down at the blood of the slain Nord who had been before me. At the very least I could turn my head and stare up at the executioner and glare at him with all the vitriol of my last moments…at least, that was the plan until I caught the shadow of something over his right shoulder, moving fast in the sky, black as pitch and bigger than any bird I’d ever seen.

 

It wasn’t a bird.

 

A dragon. I swear upon the Forest Green I saw a dragon leap down out of the sky on huge black wings, its claws digging into the slates of the fortress roof as it alighted down. I was still staring up over the executioner’s shoulder, right at completely impossible monstrosity on the roofscape. I stared right into the thing’s eyes. And it stared right back at me with that flat malice that only repiles seem capable of pulling off, before it opened its mouth with a deep hiss, and the very air burst into flame.

 

Chaos and pandemonium – there was fire and roaring and screaming, the smell of burning wood and frying flesh. Everywhere was havok and flame. I must have fainted for a moment, I don’t know, but I found myself lying on the ground with nothing but scorched earth around me. Stormcloak prisoners were the last thing on anyone’s mind at that point, that was pretty clear. Within moments, the blond Nord who had been in my carriage grabbed a handful of my tunic and yelled fiercely into my face. “Hurry! With me! Come!” I was able to run as fast as my weary legs could carry me to a nearby tower, where many of the Stormcloaks were hiding. One of their number even ushered me out and away, showing me the fastest way of escape. Maybe he thought a tree-dweller would be fast enough to figure out the best way out, I’m not sure…not sure why he cared. But in any event, once the adrenaline hit I was well on my way, leaping out of the destroyed tower and down into a burning barn, hitting the ground running and darting behind the Stormcloak quick as ever. I managed to swipe a bow and quiver off the ground as I ran, and we ducked into the fortress, gasping for breath and sizing each other up.

 

Was he going to turn on me now he was clear, or was he actually going to continue on? I had no idea where I was and even less of an idea of where to go; my people are rare in these lands – there wasn’t going to be anywhere I was going to be able to hide. But then, the Stormcloak was as much a rebel as I was.

 

So for a few seconds, even while we could hear the roaring and screaming outside, I stared at him, and he stared right back. We didn’t speak for a long while…I think the same things were going through our minds at the same time; and I could tell he reached the same conclusion I had, for eventually he loosened the grip on the axe he had managed to grab off a corpse, and I took my fingers off the bowstring.

 

“We’ll have to find a way out of here, grab whatever gear you can and let’s go.”

 

It took me a bit to decipher his accent – I hadn’t been in the Nord-lands long – but it wasn’t difficult to figure out what he was saying. I only hesitated a moment before stripping some leather off a bled-out body nearby; I’ve done worse. The sword the Imperial woman had carried wasn’t brilliant, but it was sharp and that’s what counted. After a bit of scouting round, we found a passage down into the bowels of the fortress, and the Nord with me gestured for me to scout ahead – fair point, my eyes being better in darkness. I was able to move a bit more quietly as well, though I was impressed at how little noise he made.

 

“We’re rebels in our own lands,” he responded in a hoarse whisper, tinged with a bit of pride as I commented on his stealth. “Skyrim is in my blood and bones, and I know how to move in the ice and snow.”

 

Point taken. And it was an important one, as I could hear Imperial voices ahead of me. Now truth me told, the last thing I wanted was Imperial blood on my hands, and I hesitated. Not so my Nord friend, who slipped by me before I could protest and roared his challenge. Stealth, well and good, but subtlety? It’s not a Nord strong point. But he knew the way out and I didn’t, so cursing my still-dubious luck I knew I had no option but to keep the big oaf alive, so I let my bowstring do the singing and hit my target in the eye before he could cry out, right over the Nord’s shoulder. I only felt a small twinge of satisfaction at the rather alarmed look he shot back at me when his quarry fell.

 

“So your kind are good with a bow after all,” he grunted. That was probably as close to a compliment as I was going to get, and we didn’t have time to linger anyway.

 

We came round another corridor and I grimaced. Clashing steel, curses…and the smell of blood. It didn’t take a wizard to figure out what was in the room beyond in such a dank, dark passage. Imperials would have a torture room, of course, and here it was. At least the one responsible for the slaying got his come-uppance, and the Stormcloaks were not kind about it. The Nord with me handed me a few lockpicks. “See if you can find anything of use in the cages.”

 

“What makes me think I can use a lockpick?” I retorted, and probably not very convincingly. It was a rather weak sally. He just gave me a withering look, and I sighed. Old habits…my fault, that one. I just set to work with it, opening a cage which still held some poor soul in it; he had a spellbook and a few pieces of gold on him, but that was all. It would do – if I could blag it off on someone it might manage to get me a bit of coin. Who knew? But now, after a hasty consultation with the other Stormcloaks, they were splitting up, but the straw-haired Nord opted to stay behind.

 

“Why aren’t you going off with them?”

 

“Have to split up, then perhaps we can escape…and also sound an alarm about the dragon itself. We’ll travel together.”

 

I had honestly expected him to just cast me to the winds of fate once he had found his friends; his gesture surprised me, but I was to learn it’s not what a Nord says, but what he does that is the indication of what is going on in his mind. So, onward we went.

 

Down and down…the stronghold above us was weakening under the dragon’s onslaught, which we could hear even through over a meter of stone overhead – it wasn’t very comforting to know it could all come down on our heads, and at one point it almost did. We found ourselves in an underground tunnel system just as boulders pounded down and filled the tunnel from whence we had come…no other option was left to us but forward.

 

And so we crept along – until I felt the Nord’s hand come down sharply on my shoulder as he pointed ahead. I tried to comprehend what had him concerned when I realised he was pointing at the sleeping bear I had smelled and sensed a few moments previously.

 

“I don’t think we should try to take that on,” he murmured and nodded toward a fork in the passage to my left. “If we could that way we should just be able to sneak -”

 

I gave him a rather impatient look, raised my bow again, and took aim. The bear didn’t even have time to stir. Again, the Nord just stared at me, and then grinned, teeth flashing in the gloom.

 

“Not one for stealth, are you?”

 

“I’m in a hurry. And there’s good meat on that bear, we may need it.”

 

Not really much time, but I hadn’t eaten in a while. The Meat Pact still held for me. I managed to cut a bit off the haunch very quickly, a few slices with the sword did the trick and I bound the meat into a cloak and then over my shoulder. Waste not. Still, we were running out of time and lingering wasn’t a good idea. Off we went again, and this time the Nord was leading…I could hear scurrying ahead. Spiders this time, but these were huge. I’ve never seen spiders so massive, not even in Valenwood. The Nord with me was definitely not a fan of the beasts and he shuddered once they were slain. “It’s the eyes, you know?”

 

And now, the sounds of chaos were behind us, and growing fainter. There was a breeze coming from somewhere up ahead, and after a struggle past dirt and roots we found ourselves blinking blearily into the cold Skyrim sunlight in a valley. Free.

 

We grinned at each other – respect in the Nord’s eyes, and I suppose there was some in mine. After all, I was a stranger in his land, and yet he had taken the time to help me escape. I wouldn’t forget it. Still, I was in a fair jam, being this much out of my element with angry Imperials more than likely on the lookout for a white-haired Bosmer woman on the loose. What I was going to do, I wasn’t really certain.

 

“What’s your name, Bosmer?”

 

“Dreema.” For a moment I considered using one of my many aliases…but the thing about Nords is for all their many faults they have a very high sense of honour; and the one thing I needed right now was someone with a high moral code. Someone who wouldn’t turn me in for a bit of coin. Some people would call that a friend…but it had been a while since I’ve had one of those.

 

“I’m Ralof, a member of the Stormcloaks. And we’ve escaped but I don’t need to tell you we’re still in trouble. I have a sister who lives in a village nearby – she will help us. I call tell you which way you need to go from here, as it’s probably best we split up.”

 

I nodded rather warily, even so. Yes, Nords and honour but it just sounded like a con. I tried to keep my face as neutral as possible but Ralof must have noted something in my look as he stiffened slightly, studying me before he turned on his heel, speaking over his shoulder. “Better idea, I’ll show you myself; just in case you end up stumbling into a troll – and I owe you a debt in any event.”

 

I almost protested, but I realised this was his way of allaying my fears without actually saying it. More dangerous, sure, but between his know-how of the region and my reflexes, we’d be all right. I made my prayer to Y’ffre and set off at Ralof’s side. We said nothing for a long while, but slowly Ralof began to offer information; about the stones which stood in circles, and how they called the attributes down from the stars, about his homeland, and even pointed out some plants along the way which would treat a wound. He showed me how to roll the leaf of a purple mountain flower under my tongue to fight off fatigue, and pointed out a fungus or two that was ready to harvest to make a healing potion. But all the while I could see he was scanning the sky, and I found myself doing it too. We didn’t talk about the dragon…it was still too strange, too wondrous, too terrifying a topic for discussion. Dragons had been gone from our world for milennia. Only a dream could have summoned such a creature…or a nightmare.

 

It had looked at me. Right at me. And I remembered flames…but I wasn’t burned.

 

Eventually we made it to Riverwood; Ralof’s sister and brother-in-law were at the mill and although some of the village-folk eyed me somewhat mistrustfully, they were grateful for my help in getting one of their own away from the cutting block. I was able to offer the bear meat for a stew – I picked out the vegetables as furtively as I could; this wasn’t Valenwood, but still I hold to the Pact – and I ate and ate and ate my fill. As Ralof and I hid in the shack till nightfall, the fire crackling, I felt better than I had done for some time, even though I was still going to find it hard going.

 

“I haven’t asked you what a lone Bosmer is doing in Skyrim,” Ralof said quietly, prodding at the coals of the fire as he sat upon a stool and studied the flames.

 

“No, you didn’t.” I responded. Silence came down again.

 

“Someone needs to go to the Jarl in Whiterun and warn them of the dragon attacks,” Ralof continued, stretching is long legs out before and sighing as he leaned against the wall. “My face is a bit too well known out there, but you may be able to do it. Besides, doing such a service for the people of Skyrim would put you in good stead.”

 

I stared at Ralof as the fire-light danced on his face. I was learning Ralof was big and coarse as all of his folk, but he wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot; he was offering me a glimmer of hope – run an errand to the Jarl, get in the graces of Whiterun, and I could be safe for a little while. Maybe not long, but it would be better than in the back of beyond at the side of a wanted fugitive. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out why he’d bother. Who was I to this Nord on his own ground?

 

“Why do you care?” I blurted out, unaware I was even going to say it so directly. But sometimes direct is the best approach.

 

Ralof looked up at me for a few moments, and his brow furrowed. “I…don’t know. You are not from here and it must be said the Nords of Skyrim have no reason at all to love the Bosmer as history tells us. But still, do you believe in wyrd – fate – at all?”

 

I smiled without humour. “If I do, it’s a cursed one for me.”

 

“No such thing,” he responded flatly. “It’s just wyrd. Neither good nor bad. But I have a feeling," he continued slowly as he studied me. "I have a feeling yours is about to come upon you. It’s all I can say.” He frowned, and then shook himself, banishing any further mystical commentary as he wrapped his dark cloak around him and shuffled slightly on the stool. “In any event, go to the Jarl. And perhaps if wyrd allows, I’ll see you again someday. May you fight well, and I would be honoured to draw blades at your side again.”

 

The night had come down upon Skyrim outside, and there was nothing else to wait for. In his own way, Ralof had given me his goodbye and blessing, and it would have to do. I took up my bow, slipped out of the cottage, and out into the night; up until then, I had never feared travelling at nightfall but now…now I couldn’t help but scan the sky overhead now and again. From time to time, I caught the glimpse of a large shadow crossing the glowing faces of the moons above, and heard a sound like thunder far away though there were no clouds in the skies. A dragon somewhere, somewhere in the skies. Legends now flew.

 

And it had stared right at me.

[Dreema]

I made my way out of Riverwood – I was rather welcome to leave the place for Ralof and his people had been not-so-subtly hinting I should look into joining the Stormcloaks; a ridiculous prospect as the Stormcloaks believed Skyrim was for Nords only, and I doubt they’d be particularly happy to allow a Bosmer in, of all races. Their memories were long, and the story of how the Wild Hunt had slain their kin was well remembered. I may as well have been one of the monster-hordes in flesh to many eyes, and well I knew it. No, all I wanted to do was keep my head down and get out of Skyrim as quickly as I could. But I knew that meant I was going to have to do a few favours, and speaking to a Jarl did mean I’d have a bit of leverage.

 

Still, with all this whirling round in my head, I took a moment or two to scan the terrain, and then found myself rather taken by the view. Skyrim is a rugged yet beautiful country – not enough trees for a Bosmer, of course, but the mountains peaks are taller than any tree, the wildlife here is strong and wild, and even the brushy plains can burst into brilliant colours of purple, white and orange. Dangerous, true – I could see how Skyrim had shaped the Nords themselves. It struck me that our people were not so different – fiercely proud, moulded and shaped by our surroundings, wild and free.

 

A nice place, really. Shame about all the snow however. And the dragon.

 

That last thought was sobering enough that all thoughts of view-gazing were gone, and I continued on the road, keeping an eye out for trouble – although I should have known that trouble would find me instead.

 

The roads here are treacherous – and it’s not just beasts you have to worry about; ahead of me I could spot a camp. Tents made of skins, and an orc and two Nords wandering round a fire. I didn’t like their look; they awoke some memories I didn’t really care to think about, and I was already considering which way I could go to get round them.

 

But Skyrim isn’t Valenwood; I wasn’t used to so little cover, nothing but rocks and stones. I was off my game and off my guard – and I was already too close. These people knew this terrain, and even though I ducked for cover and tried to look for a way round, I made too much noise. They were alert, and I could hear them stirring and starting to circle the camp, seeking out whatever had made the noise.

 

Cursing under my breath, I scrabbled for an arrow, and put it to the string. I was underfed, undertrained and out numbered, but if I could strike very quickly I might be in with a chance.

 

A Nord woman, dressed in studded, poorly-tanned hides, came round with a crude iron axe, spotted me in my hiding place and prepared to give a shout. She never made it. At this close range, it was easy to put an arrow in her eye, but it turned my stomach even so to do it; so I hadn’t lost all my skill in that dank galley after all.

 

At that point I knew I could have retreated and tried going round, but now I warred with myself. These were rogues and brigands – it was obvious enough…and it takes one to know one. In other words, no one would miss them. More to the point, whatever swag they had purloined from the hapless travellers this way was probably in the camp somewhere, and who knew, it might come in handy. But I’d have to kill to get it, something I swore I’d never do again.

 

The decision was made for me, as the Orc and other Nord cleared round the boulders from the opposite side. How in all the world did they do that so quietly!? Skyrim had shaped them, of course, and they moved as stealthily as cats. I only just ducked a savage swing from the orc’s hammer as we squared off, two to one, and me still weak from bad commons and poor health.

 

Any hesitation I previous had was now gone. It was me or them, and I fought with a fury I could barely credit myself. The Nord felt from a savage swipe with my axe in his guts, but the orc kept coming, as orcs are wont to do. Wounds only infuriate them – they are a good enemy, but I was running out of energy to fight.

 

In desperation, I used the rocky terrain to my advantage, leaping up onto an outcropping and snatching for my bow once more. The orc cursed and struggled up after me, faster than I would have credited him capable. Still I had the advantage. No one outshoots a Bosmer, and first one, then another arrow struck home. The orc finally collapsed with an arrow in the throat, and I panted and fell to my knees, dizzy but victorious.

 

So then, I was a killer once more, but idealistic oaths it seemed had no place in Skyrim, and I was going to have to come to grips with it. I cursed, and sighed, fighting the sinking feeling in my gut.

 

In Valenwood I would have eaten the orc, but I had no time. Only enough time to riffle pockets and gather gold – there was even a few silver trinkets and an amethyst, a few lockpicks, and some better leather boots. I tugged these on, even snatching the skewered meat which was roasting on the fire to eat on the way, and off I went.

 

I could see what I assumed to be Whiterun in the valley before me just as the sun was setting over the plains. A gutteral rumbling caught me off guard for a few moments and I scanned the skies, but realised there were some guardsmen fighting a massive creature dressed entirely in skins – I was to learn later these were giants, normally a tribe the Nords left in peace unless their herded mammoths trampled into local farmcrops. I winced as the huge creature fell into the dust, but all the commotion allowed me to slip toward Whiterun’s gates without a struggle.

 

Well, almost without a struggle; the guards tried to give me a shakedown for money at the gates, but I wasn’t having it. I can bluster with the best of them, xenophobes or not. I called the bluff and managed to make my way inside the gates of Whiterun, and for a moment I stood amazed. I had always thought of Nords living in small villages, but Whiterun was rather large, with a huge keep upon the rise, approachable by a steep staircase built in stone.

 

I attracted a lot of attention – I suppose a Bosmer always will, and that alone was rather problematic. A bystander however asked if I was a relation to Elrindir. So maybe I’m not the only Bosmer about – although being as rare as all that I decided I wasn’t going to try and claim too many connections before I was due. I had a message to bring, and an urgent one at that, so off I went, bounding up the stairs to Dragonsreach, and presented myself to the Jarl’s court.

 

Again, I wasn’t expecting the sheer size of the place – again, old habits made me scan the place immediately on entry for corridors, guards, and stairways, before I shook my head and forced my brains out of that old groove. I was here to case the stronghold, I was here to speak to the leader, and the Jarl and his court were now aware of my presence – and I could feel the suspicion long before I approached the Jarl’s dias. The Dunmer at the Jarl’s left hand glared as I bowed as low as I could and tried to think of what to say.

 

“Well, Bosmer?” the Jarl asked gruffly.

 

I took a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. ”Honoured Jarl, I come from Riverwood, my message is urgent. The dragons have returned.” I raised my voice as the incredulous cries began, and the Jarl’s eyes narrowed as he sat up in his throne, staring hard at me. “And I know how strange this is, but I have seen it with my own eyes. Helgen is destroyed.”

 

The arguments began, of course – the steward and the Jarl going back and forth for some time. However this Jarl was more levelheaded than I would have given him credit, and he actually took what I was saying into account, immediately setting out orders for investigation. The hall was soon abustle, but with considerable efficiency.

 

“No one is to speak of dragons outside of these halls until we have this information confirmed, have I made this clear, Bosmer?”

 

What else could I have said? At least they weren’t clapping me in irons. It would do to stay on the side of the Jarl as Whiterun was a neutral town; no Imperials here! However I knew this was going to mean doing more favours the Nords, and sure enough, the Jarl told me to have a word with the Court Wizard.

 

“In the meantime, you have free rein to stay in Whiterun; explore it, and do as you will, provided you stay out of trouble.”

 

Well, I told myself somewhat grimly, maybe it would mean I’d get a bit of work, though with the way the Dunmer was staring at me with hardly a blink, doing the old work was probably going to end up with me chained to another oar. So…no freelancing then. Who knew, maybe I wouldn’t need it?

 

Not a total loss; I was given some septims for my troubles, and with a bit of clink in my pockets, I decided to pay the wizard a visit.