Role Playing Fan Fiction ❯ Conjure It At Your Own Risk ❯ Never Can Be Unseen ( Chapter 2 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

TWO

 

“There’s no time!” cried Harry. He was working with powerful magics, trying to construct a portal to a far side of the Never-Never while under wards he’d erected at the lighthouse atop the Deeper Well, the island that housed horrible monsters and was the source of several ley-lines. Powerful magics, not to be trifled with, and a place he’d been warned to avoid ever tapping into. A place so far from Good that evil things avoided it. And Father was going to open a portal there, somehow avoiding the worst of the place.

“Almost there… and now! Go! Go! Run!” he shouted and I ran on my teenage legs through the portal. There was a brief momentary splash of darkness and then I was falling a short distance and then I landed on a road. I know it was a road because there was a horse, a wagon, and some guys in metal armor.

“Oh, look. Another one. Bind her and put her in the wagon with the other traitors,” scowled someone in charge. They were speaking English. I found that the most bizarre aspect of my arrival. Someone rapped me on the head when I struggled and I was out.

Eventually I drifted awake against a grey world, rocking. I was seated in a wagon whose boards never knew the touch of sandpaper and my clothes were replaced by a burlap shift. I was barefoot and bleeding.

“Finally awake, I see. We’re all brothers in binds,” said the man, laughing.

“What’s with him?” asked another man, pointing his chin towards the man seated beside me. I turned and looked. He was gagged. He was also dressed in fine armor, with a huge fur collar, heavy boots, and an angry glare.

“Be quiet back there!” complained the driver of the wagon, a man in light chainmail and leather armor. I felt my magic respond eagerly to me. This place was flooded with mana. It was rich, so rich everyone in this place should be able to use it. I regarded the rich man and stared into his eyes. The soulgaze began.

Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak was a rebel, but he was driven to it by the evil in the world. He’d fought hard against wicked men, and women, and corruption, and led the forces that attacked and conquered the ancient city of Markarth, one with antique steam engines, waterfalls, and magical robots that patrolled in its depths. A place built underground for some important reason. He’d lead the Empire from Cyrodill to victory there, and then seen little more than a title and a brief thanks from the generals assigned to Skyrim, his birth home. He’d resigned in disgust, and gone on to win and take over Windhelm, and form a revolution against the Empire, first suing for the right to self-rule, and then right of combat over the pretender Jarl in Solitude, the seat of Imperial power in Skyrim, but only a port city on an arch of stone. Not farms or serious development. I saw him standing over this land, fighting for the right of his people to worship their Man-God Talos. Saw him lose friends and stiffen his resolve. He was a great man. And he was naïve. The vision ended.

I looked down at my hands, bound in front of me with strips of rawhide. I barely had any circulation, but I could burn them off in an instant without harming myself. Father had taught me many tricks in the years since his return from the Dead. Ten years. I had been a little girl, but I was a woman now, if slightly smaller than average. Father suspected that since I’d come into my power so early it was slowing my aging. I looked younger than Ivy, the human vessel of the Archive.

I noted that all the prisoners had their hands bound in front of them. I subtly weakened the rawhide with tiny application of fire magic and a bit of transmutation from leather to lard. When they pulled, the bonds would fall away.

“Greetings, friends. I seem to have arrived in inauspicious times?”

“They caught you crossing the border, same as us,” insisted the soldier across from me.

“Purely coincidence. Are the local authorities able to see reason?” I asked them in my lilting lady voice.

“Their blood is up. Ever since the events in Solitude, the Empire wants to end our freedom,” insisted the soldier.

“Interesting then, that they bound our hands in front of us?” I pointed out, gesturing. “And that gag would be easy to remove, don’t you think?”

“Be quiet back there!” repeated the driver again. We all made eyes at each other. But then the wagon descended through a wooden gate to a small keep, a castle with a few buildings, several round stone towers, and what appeared to be a tavern if I was any judge. I wasn’t old enough to drink, legally, but I suspect this place probably considered ale safer than water. It would not surprise me at all.

“General Tullius. And those damn elves. I should have expected they’d be behind all this,” cursed the soldier who’d been doing most of the talking during our ride down the mountain road.

“Come inside, boy!” called out a man to his son.

“Aww. I want to see the soldiers!” called out the boy, probably nine or ten. Was I ever that naïve? We rounded the building and a headsman with a big axe and a block with a box to catch the heads sat in the middle of the courtyard. I am not liking this.

We stopped abruptly and were told to dismount. I joined them at the back. They read off names from a parchment held by a soldier in what I was coming to believe must be a semi-Roman imperial armor. It had a skirt of heavy leather with steel here and there to keep it from flopping around. It did not look very comfortable, but would probably be very helpful when its owner crapped themselves in combat or needed relief since they did not need to take it off first.

The sky was cloudy. There was a distant roar from some animal on the mountainside towering above us.

“Who are you?” asked the soldier slowly of me.

“Me?” and then something really weird happened. Like, unbelievably weird. My magic is too powerful to use computers, but I can read books and manga and comic books if they are printed on paper. I have… had… quite a collection back home. I used to go to libraries, but everyone uses computers these days at getting within 15 feet of one will kill it. A certain Jedi Knight of the Cross once explained that the magical field from wizards causes both randomized transmutation and limited dark-energy surges and flickers which effect Coulomb’s Law, the Gravitational Constant, and even Pi varies near us. And it happens more when excited. A wizard can actually focus those energies in meaningful and directed ways on our reality, which is how we actually do magic from a Physics sense. Its higher dimensional stuff being forced down to the Four we live in. He once showed me the math, with Father as a baseline and myself and Molly as examples. The effects vary between wizards, with powerful ones like Father and I being able to do more with less, and what I was seeing in my vision right now, the world frozen around me, was a Gamer screen, like from the novels from Korea, and the later Manhua I read, picked up from a used book shop. Bock Ordered Books banned Father, but I was still allowed there. I didn’t flip a car over or fight ghouls on the front porch like Father had one evening. Bock was a nice old man who knew about magic, and just loved books.

I was looking at a man. I switched it to a woman. There were many races. Including different races of elves and humans, and there were also green skinned orcs, and cat-men, and not the cute Japanese kinds but the fully furred kind that only fetishists liked. The Imperials looked pretty ordinary. The Nords were tall and pale. The Redguard looked kinda like mother if she’d lived in Africa or Brazil. Variations of them were very African in appearance. There was fine print I could read. The Redguard are disease resistant nomads who specialize in light armor and fighting against robots. They have fast stamina regeneration. I’m a mage. It is what I know. The Imperials find extra gold everywhere they look and get a random regeneration bonus in combat, either magica, stamina, or health. Odd. Probably a good choice. The Elves look really alien to me. One kind is yellow and good at magic, but arrogant. Another kind eats the bodies of their enemies to gain their strength. Gross. Another kind is cursed from birth by the gods of this place, and are fire resistant, but also forced to murder people ordered by their ancestors. Yuck. I am a Godly woman.

The Bretons are basically children of rape by the elves, humans with extra magic ability. That suits me. I picked a goth girl and gave her black hair and makeup and slightly darker skin to match my own. I’d be shorter again, I noticed. I will deal with it for the benefits of better control over summoned demons and resistance to magic. I finished the selection and inputted my name as Maggie Dresden. Conjure me at your own risk.

“You’re not on the list. Captain, this one isn’t on the list,” called out the soldier. An angry redguard in a steel helmet snarled.

“She goes to the block with the others.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I’ll see your remains are sent back to your family in Daggerfall.”

“Oh, really? I’ll try to spare you then,” I answered simply. I stepped behind the angry man in the good armor from our wagon, this Ulfric, and pushed magic into his cloth gag, weakening it with chaos magic, a trick Father had taught me. It visibly mildewed and aged, showing signs of being brittle.

“Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn’t use the power of the Voice to usurp his King and steal his throne. You started this war. Plunged Skyrim into chaos. And now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!” insulted the imperial General Tullius. There was a strange animal howl from the mountains above. “It’s nothing,” decided the general, advising his men to ignore it.

 

Turning away from Ulfric was enough, however. Jarl Ulfric lifted his hands, binding falling away and tore off the gag. He inhaled deeply and then magic came from his mouth. 

“FUUSSS ROW DAAHH!” and the general and all those behind him went flying across the courtyard. The executioner was blown clear of his axe, that went flying into the upper story of the tavern and stuck there. My ears rang and I staggered. My hands were free. And I quickly touched the bindings for direct destruction of the rawhide on each prisoner I could reach, even as the guards staggered back to their feet.

“This way!” called one of the prisoners. I followed. Behind us there was a huge roar and a thump that shook the ground, staggering most of us.

“What in Oblivion is that?” shouted Tullius over the noise. Then a huge roar and meteors started falling out of a sky that was suddenly cloudy and red. My sight was open, by accident, and I saw this being in all its glory and hatred, a dragon, one like Michael had slain to rescue Charity, an action which lead to their marriage under God. He was her salvation, and I issued a silent prayer to them both, feeling a charm of protection enshroud me then. Magic is very personal. You apply your own preferred words and rituals to invoke it, but few use the same methods unless taught that way. I saw the monster glaring at us and quickly raised my shield. For whatever reason, I have always been able to do this instinctively and do not need a talisman to focus it. I simply hold out my hand and a minor effort of focus hardens the air, able to absorb attacks, energy, heat and cold. It even works on radiation beyond the visible spectrum or too intense, such as laser pointers. The monster breathed FIRE at us. Two men on either side were burned badly, falling to the ground as charred bodies. Men do not smell like pork when they get roasted alive. They smell like monkey, which is not at all similar. With a childhood in Guatemala, you should not be surprised I have eaten monkey and guinea pig, as well as goat and crocodile. When you are hungry you will be willing to eat many things. The stink of burned monkey is not pleasant. Neither is a man roasted by dragonfire.

“Into the keep!” called the soldier, still alive. We ducked inside. The dragon roared defiance, thundering against walls and blowing fire on buildings, tearing at them with its claws and smashing them down with its tail and talons.

“Come on. Open the gate!” ordered Ulfric.

“Was that really a dragon? From the oldest tales?” asked the soldier.

“Legends don’t breathe fire or destroy towns,” replied Ulfric. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“Behind this gate leads to the prison cells, and a way out through a cave below the mountain. We can escape the dragon,” said the man.

“What is your name?” asked Ulfric.

“Ralof, Jarl Ulfric. I am from Riverwood, which is nearby. I will seek aid. I have family there.”

“And you, girl? You freed me. I owe you a great debt,” he said, turning to me.

“I wish you honor in your rebellion, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. You sacrifice much, but I urge you not to lose your way in this war. Remember that you have more than one enemy, and not all enemies are in league with each other. Some are competitors. Remember the lessons of Markarth. And now this place, Helgen, has its own new enemy.”

“Yes, it does. I think that perhaps the Empire will blame me for this attack.”

“I urge you to denounce it. That thing was a monster of hatred.” There was another boom and dust sifted down from the ceiling.

“We can’t go outside. I think it must be tearing down the entire keep. We should descend. Can you open this gate, girl?” asked Ralof.

“Its Maggie, and yes. I can. A moment,” I cautioned and exerted my will on the stiff lock. I eventually felt out the way to turn it and it gradually shifted unlocked. I’d used a fair bit of mana, because somehow I could tell and it refilled slowly, then more quickly. I pushed the gate open.

“Let’s go,” I urged, hearing noise behind us. I noted movement and slipped through the open gate, the Jarl and Ralof following silently behind me. I turned and descended a curving staircase of stone, gesturing Ralof to lead the way. We turned right through an open doorway and there was a roar from the dragon above and enormous stone blocks fell from the ceiling, blocking the passage ahead, raising a cloud of dust, and revealing a glimmer of light from the hole in the ceiling.

“That was close,” Ralof noted drily.

“A moment. Let me try something,” I warned. I felt for spells, finding three new ones. Fire, healing, and conjure familiar. I pushed energy into that spell and when it was enough a hole in the universe briefly tore up and out dropped a glowing blue ghost wolf. Mana flooded back into me, faster than before from the ambient magic. I was quickly refilled in a moment.

“Ahh. Better. Okay, I am ready,” I said, gesturing to the closed door. Ralof pushed it open and Ulfric drew an iron axe, looted from a corpse in the first room. He looked like he knew what he was doing with it. I hung back, entering the room, a kitchen, last. There was a fireplace and cookpot on the left, a pillar in the middle from which garlic and a couple different herb sprigs hung drying, and a rabbit carcass on an iron rack near the fireplace, probably draining for use soon.

“Who is there?” called a voice. There were shouts and metal clanged. I peered around the pillar and found Ralof and Ulfric fighting hand to hand against imperial soldiers with swords. Three on two. I found one maneuvered away from the others and gave him a burst of fire until he breathed in, dying instantly. Then Ralof axed his opponent in the face, dropping him screaming, then still. Ulfric shook the blood off his axe, a head several feet away from the neck. Unlike movies, when the head comes off there is not a huge spray of blood because the heart stops. It just drops and leaks. It was also gross. I could smell the bowels loosened by death and shook my head in dismay. This place is like Earth in the middle ages, with more magic and the public quite aware of magic and beasts of legend.

“We should hurry. Those behind us will investigate sooner or later.” My familiar moved with me, my control link over it in the back of my mind.

“See if you can find any potions. We might need them,” suggested Ralof. I looked around, finding a loose lid on a barrel and inside were several red healing and green stamina and a single blue mana potion. Convenient. I also found a cup of salt. I noted that there was an empty drawstring sack beside it and it seemed to be the source. I poured that into the sack, shut it and picked up a sword belt from one of the dead imperials, taking his sword. It was a celtic design, appropriate for me. I belted on the sheath and noted the pouches. I tucked things away, including my share of potions, taking the mana potion and one health for myself. I was still barefoot, but what can you do? It isn’t like one size fits all, right?

“The torture room? We should free our comrades, if it isn’t too late,” Ralof urged. The two Nord men lead the way and found a melee between Imperials and Rebel stormcloaks.

“The Jarl! The Jarl!” the stormcloaks chanted, suddenly turning more fierce and striking hard, knocking down or beheading the imperials, including a creepy prison guard with a leather hood. If ever there was a villain, it was him. I noted a corpse in one of the cells, wearing a robe with embroidery. It screamed magic at me and I knew I wanted it. I snagged a thin metal lockpick from a nearby knapsack and used my spell to make it easier, opening it and retrieving the stinking robe and soft boots. There was a spell tome there, and three pieces of gold. There was a set of markings on it, Emperor Septimus. There was also an enchanted hood. I threw off my prison rags from my naked body and draped the robe over my head, tightening the belt till it fit, then dropped on the hood and pulled on the soft shoes. Better. And my mana told me it would refill faster.

At that moment my familiar decided it was bored and yelped as it vanished. Annoying. It seems that summons have a time limit. The Jarl grabbed a shield and Ralof took a second axe from the dead men.

“We are being followed. How do we escape this place?” asked Ulfric of one of the Stormcloaks, in slightly fancier armor.

“Onwards and downwards. There is a way out of the far side of this prison. Hurry,” urged the captain.

We followed the man, going down a line of cells, another staircase, then into a broken wall, and a natural cavern. It was oddly well lighted and air blew in through holes in the ceiling. There were more imperials here and our allies joined the fight. I crept in a low crouch, using the shadows and weak veil magic to hide myself, until I was across a bridge and noted a pool of oil or kerosene on the floor beneath two archers. I shot fire into the pool and watched the floor surge into flames like it was made of gasoline. The men were immolated and fell when their lungs burned. It was quick, at least. At the far side of the walkway I found a lever and pulled it, lowering a wooden grate across a gap and opening a passage to a natural cave beyond. This one was even better lit from sunlight streaking down from the ceiling, again very convenient. There was a roar and boom from the dragon as I reached the far side and the last two of the stormcloaks were crushed by enormous stone blocks as the way behind us was blocked.

“Damn that beast. The dragon keeps attacking. Why?” cursed Ulfric to himself. We hurried onwards, down a staircase to a stream that stank of sewer water and had to stumble through it and across to the other side, down a side passage. There were webs here. I was getting a Shelob vibe and conjured my familiar. The noise shrieked through the air and three Shelob spiders advanced.

“Frostbite spiders! Damn!” cursed Ralof. He raced ahead and started fighting one with dual axes. Jarl Ulfric advanced, hacking down one that leaped at him, then turned to regard the third my familiar was biting with its spectral mouth. Two larger spiders descended on threads from the ceiling then, causing the men to renew their attacks and I managed to fry one spider with flames of fire from my right hand.

“Disgusting creatures,” Ulfric glared down at them. “Let’s move.”

We found our next cave down another slope and spotted a huge cave bear, and a lot of human bones. We could shoot it with arrows, or sneak past. I opted to strengthen my veil and move past silently.

“Whew. That was close,” whispered Ralof. Ulfric followed silently. “The way out. Good!”

We exited into the light. The dragon roared well overhead, flying away, finally.

“This is where we part ways. I will return to Windhelm. If you decide you want to join my rebellion I will welcome you, Maggie the Mage,” urged Ulfric, briefly clasping my hands with his own. I nodded acceptance of his statement but decided I am going my own way. I am a wizard, not a tool of war.

“Thank you for helping me get out of there. If you hadn’t loosened my bonds with your magic I fear we would have died at Helgen when the dragon attacked. I am going to Riverwood, to see my sister. She can shelter us and give us supplies.”

We descended a mountain trail hidden between trees and granite outcrops. There were butterflies and various mountain flowers, blue, red, purple, thistles, and various mushrooms. We eventually came out onto a road and then a sign indicated Falkreath to the left, Riverwood ahead, and Helgen to the right. We went ahead, looping around a switchback.

“Bleak Falls Barrow. That place gave me nightmares as a child. I always feared the draugr would climb in my window at night and steal me away,” Ralof warned, shuddering in dread.

“What are draugr?” I asked.

“Mummies, a kind of undead ancient Nord that were cursed to guard the tombs of the dragon priests from the ancient dragon cult. Now that we’ve seen a dragon, I suppose I understand why they worshipped them.”

“Dragons are not gods. They are monsters. There is only one God,” I cautioned.

“There are many gods in Tamriel, and even more in Skyrim,” Ralof replied easily. “Onwards to Riverwood.”

We went through a switchback, nearing a knob of rock with three standing stones. My sight flared at them, sensing great power.

“The standing stones. Some say the Bretons placed them around Skyrim, as part of their worship.” I approached them, feeling something powerful from them. I looked at them, noting the faint markings cut into them. The Thief stone, and my gamer vision appeared. Gives bonuses to stealth, speech, light armor, archery, alchemy and learning such skills faster. I turned to the opposite one, the Warrior stone. For heavy armor, one and two handed weapons, shields, and smithing skills learned faster. Not for me either. The final stone Mage means what it says. I laid my palm across it and felt it activate, light shining into the sky and from the face of the stone. I gained skills learning for all magic.

“Mage eh? I had a feeling. Let’s move,” he said. We went onwards, and my mana was refilling somewhat more smoothly, faster. I recast the Familiar summon and had it scout ahead as we followed the riverside road, paved in stones. Three wolves attacked from a nearby ledge, and I flamed two with my hands, while Ralof killed the third.

“Wait. Let me show you a quick way to skin them. They are useful for crafting,” he said, and then showed me the trick. Around four minutes per wolf, their wet skins were removed, rolled up and tied in their own guts. It stank, and he handed them to me to carry, grinning. I sighed. I am going to have to make a spell for curing them. Some kind of transmutation, probably.

We continued on another mile before reaching Riverwood. It had a wall with a wide entrance and no actual gate. Not great security, really, but it was a lumbermill, an inn, a smithy, and a general goods store, plus a few houses for residents and guards. It this village qualified as a town, with its population of maybe thirty people? Wow. We passed a pacing blonde Nord arguing with his ancient mother nattering about seeing a dragon, saying nothing, and across a bridge to the far side of the lumber mill.

“Gerdur!” Ralof greeted, hugging his sister.

“Ralof! What are you doing here?” she asked. A heavyset Nord approached, the obvious husband of the pretty woman.

“Hod, good to see you. It has been a long time.”

“What news?” Hod asked sternly.

“We were about to be executed at Helgen when a dragon attacked. You must have seen it. It flew over this way,” Ralof explained.

“What madness is this, Ralof?” Gerdur rejected.

“It is so, wife. I saw this dragon,” Hod said.

“Truly? If the dragons are returned then we are in the End Times,” Gerdur warned, extracting an amulet and kissed it. “Kynareth save us.”

“And what is this girl?” asked Gerdur, indicating me.

“She helped us escape. I owe her my life,” Ralof said, exaggerating.

“Then you have my thanks for my brother,” Gerdur said to me.

“You are welcome. It seems this Empire is failing. Strong empires don’t just go around executing people for being nearby or inconvenient. They ordered I be put to the block when I stumbled across their border guard station. I have committed no crimes, yet the Empire ordered my execution as a mere afterthought. Such things bode poorly.”

“Compared to dragons?” asked Hod.

“Dragons are monsters. They bleed, so they can die. Empires die too, but they tend to kill millions when they go,” I warned. “In comparison to a furious dragon, an Empire is more dangerous.”

“Such bravery, little mage. Let us hope you can find enough magic to bring your boasts to life.”

It was true. I am short. Compared to even this beautiful Nord lady, a full foot taller than me.

They offered me some food, healing potions, and a couple apples. I ate an apple and read this spell tome I’d found. As I turned the pages I felt my sight opened, memorizing the pages, the diagrams, and then I just knew how it worked. The tome crumbled to nothing, and I now knew the spell Spark. And I know a lot about channeling lightning and electricity. More than any Nord, certainly.

“But this dragon attack threatens Riverwood. What if it returns and does to our village what it did to the fortress at Helgen?” Gerdur asked. “Please, would you be willing to go to the Jarl in Whiterun and give him the news?” She was looking at me.

“Fine. I’ll go there. Would you like these wolfskins? They’re uncured, but I expect you know how to tan them?”

“Very well. I will take them in exchange for the potions,” Gerdur accepted. I stood up, casting my Familiar summon spell and crossed the bridge back to the road, then across the larger bridge heading down the river. A short while later I was attacked by more wolves, killed them with Spark, which was slightly more effective in stopping their attacks, but not as effective as fire. Upside is the pelts were undamaged. I skinned them, rolled them for transport, and headed down the road. There were waterfalls and pools on the right side of the road, which did a few switchbacks, passing a muttering cat-man in an orange robe.

“Mai-ik wishes you well,” said Maik the Liar. Naturally.

I moved on, noting a train of imperials with a prison between them. I waited to let them pass, wondering at the doom of Empires, remembering my visions of Ulfric working to free his people to worship Talos, a god banned by the racist High Elves who claimed he was a false god.

Eventually they disappeared below and I continued my journey. I eventually smelled the various scents of yeast, honey, and fermentation. It was a meadery, a brewery which makes mead. There was also a crossroad, a couple farms across the bridge to the North, and another farm to the West. I turned that way, noting the city and castle looming over the farms on what appeared to be a natural knob of rock five hundred feet high. The castle was even taller.

I walked past farms. Most had a windmill for turning grain into flour. Otherwise they looked to be nothing special, but presumably they yield enough to feed the “city”. Over the top of a stone wall an arrow zipped past, hissing. There was an honest to Michael hill giant fighting against several aggressive armored warriors in a farmer’s field, among cabbages and potatoes. More arrows whipped overhead, missing me by a dozen feet. I ducked behind the stone wall, waiting until I felt a thump that shook the ground. The giant was down, probably dead. I stood again, peering over the wall, through the fence. Not much to see. I shrugged, moving on. 

A bit further I saw the farmhouse for this place and then a right turn at the town stables, up through a series of gates, across a drawbridge, all guarded, and to the front gates, which were shut. A guard approached me.

“Hold! The city’s closed with the dragon about. What brings you here?” the guard demanded of me.

“I have news of the dragons. I must speak to the Jarl,” I challenged.

“Fine. I’ll be watching you. Head to the Jarl’s palace at the top of the hill,” he ordered, gesturing to the other guard. He did something and the gate unlocked. I pushed the door open and stepped into Whiterun, the biggest city of Skyrim, apparently.

 

 

Omake 1

 

“Quick, climb the tower!” insisted Ralof the stormcloak after his brief conversation with Jarl Ulfric. The dragon howled and men screamed. 

“Untie my hands! Yours are untied!” I demanded. There was another roar of flame outside. 

“Climb the tower!” he insisted, ignoring me again. Men were bitten in half outside. 

“Hands! And the dragon is up there. Why would I climb the tower towards the attacking dragon? Did you hit your head? Did you get stupid in the last couple minutes?” I insulted. A man screamed as he fell from the sky, dropped by the dragon after getting snatched from a walltop. Archery on top of walls is not a great idea against dragons. 

“Quick, climb the stairs!” he insisted. Jarl Ulfric looked amused, staying put on the ground floor of the tower. 

“And then what? It’s a tower! It stops at the roof, where the dragon will have a great view of me,” I tried reasoning with him again. The dragon howled again, and more men screamed as they died outside. 

“Quick, climb the tower!” Ralof insisted once more, leading the way. I took two hesistant steps after him. A dragon smashed the hole in the tower, looked directly at me, and breathed fire on the stormcloak redshirt who’d been standing on the landing above us a moment earlier.

“Great plan, Ralof. Climbing the tower gets you attacked by a dragon. What genius idea do you have now?”

“Jump across into the burning building!” Ralof insisted. I climbed to the landing, trying to ignore the smell of burned corpse and looked across out of the hole in the tower. Yep, that building down there is on fire. It is a long drop too. Definitely broken leg territory, while on fire, probably. Maybe impaled on a post, as well. I looked at him and raised my delicate lady eyebrow at him. 

"You must be joking." 

"Jump across!" Ralof insisted, gesturing urgently. 

"No! That’s a stupid plan. You jump. Why not just go down the tower and run for it, or better off, wait for the dragon to finish killing and chasing off all those imperials and we can sneak away!” I countered.

“Jump across! It’s on fire! Hurry!” Ralof insisted.

“Really?! Really? Are you dumb?” I demanded.

“Jump across!” he insisted, not going himself.

You know, when that evil Redguard Imperial captain insisted I was getting executed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I vowed I’d kill imperials every chance I got. This nonsense from Ralof wasn’t helping the case of the Stormcloaks, either.

END OMAKE 1