A Stranger in Skyrim 6

Chapter Six: The People of Riverwood

In which people chatter incessantly.

They made it to Riverwood shortly after that, walking at a somewhat more leisurely pace now that the town itself was in sight. It looked … peaceful. There was a a high wall, yes, but no one manned the walkway. Thatched buildings lined the road, and growing plants were everywhere. She saw signs hanging from some of the buildings – those would be shops, probably.

“Things look quiet enough here. Come on, there's my uncle.” Hadvar broke into a tired-looking run, heading for the shop on the left, it looked like. She followed at a more sedate pace. She was worn out already. No point in making it worse.

A woman was shouting as she walked into town. “A dragon! I saw a dragon!”

“What is it now, mother?” A man in a yellowish shirt responded, sounding exasperated.

The woman pitched her voice deliberately so that everyone in town could hear her. “It was as big as the mountain and black as night! It flew right over the barrow!”

“Dragons now, is it?” He sighed. “Please, mother. If you keep going on like this, everyone in town will think you're crazy. And I've got better things to do than listen to more of your fantasies.” He walked away from his own mother, ignoring her. Mariah decided she didn't much care for yellow-shirt. Especially since his mother had the right of it, after all.

The old woman called after her son, hands on her hips. “You'll see! It was a dragon! It'll kill us all and then you'll believe me!”

Mariah walked up behind the woman, tapping her on the shoulder.

“What?”

She smiled. “I believe you, ma'am. I saw the dragon with my own eyes.”

“Are you – are you making fun of me?”

She shook her head, feeling the smile fade somewhat. “Why would I – ?”

“Because I won't stand for it!” She folded her arms, sounding defensive.

Mariah held her hands up, placatingly. “I'm not making fun of you, I swear.”

“You're not?”

She shook her head for emphasis. “I'm not.”

There was a long pause.

“Your hair is blue.”

A nod, this time, she let her hands fall to her sides. Damn, but she needed pockets. There was nothing to stuff her hands into. “I'm aware.”

“Nobody will believe you, you know.”

She tilted her head to the side. “I'm sure I can convince them.” She stepped back. “Anyway, that's all I had to say.” She gave a little half-bow, then turned to walk toward the shop. The sign depicted an anvil in an oversized horseshoe, wrought in iron. The blacksmith's place, which would belong to Hadvar's uncle. Both Hadvar and his uncle had already disappeared inside, so she knocked on the door.

A woman in a dress and apron opened it. “I'm sorry,” she began, “But we're eating dinner. Can I help you, miss …?”

“Mariah. I'm Hadvar's friend.” She smiled her most charming smile.

The woman looked to her right for a moment. Hadvar's voice, just loud enough for her to hear, said, “It's all right, she's the one I was telling you about.”

“Well! Any friend of Hadvar's is welcome here. Come on in.” The woman stepped to the side, and she walked into the cozy little room. The first thing she noticed was the furs, covering the wooden floor and walls. Part of her felt sad, because she knew real animals had died to make them, but part of her reveled in the feel of the warm fur between her still-damp toes. She had yet to put the ill-fitting boots back on. She felt a little guilty, dripping all over the rug, but she didn't have much choice in the matter.

A man in a red shirt spoke next, a smile on his face. “Come in, come in. Set that armor down, warm yourself by the fire.” So, she did, setting the armor, and her backpack, by the door. She sat down by the fireplace, her back to the fire.

“You must be hungry.” The woman smiled, looking between them. “Let me get you two something to eat.” She walked over to the cooking pot as Hadvar took a seat at the table.

The man looked over at Hadvar. “Now, then, boy, what's the big mystery? What are you doing here, looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?”

“I don't know where to start.” Hadvar shook his head. “You know I was assigned to General Tullius's guard. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked … by a dragon.”

The man – Hadvar's uncle – sounded incredulous. “A dragon? That's … ridiculous! You aren't drunk, are you boy?”

“Husband, let him tell his story,” the woman protested.

Hadvar sighed. “Not much more to tell. This … dragon … flew over, and just wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don't know if anyone else got out alive. I doubt I'd have made it myself, if not for my friend here.”

“That's a little too generous. I didn't do much.” She looked down and away, but she could feel it when all eyes fell on her. “Well, it's true. I'm no soldier, I barely held my own.”

Hadvar shook his head. “What about the spiders, hm? Or when you killed that Stormcloak who got behind me, or the time you fought off two of them single-handedly? You did well, trust me.” She felt herself blushing. She'd been lucky, that was all.

“Anyway, I need to get back to Solitude and let them know what's happened. I was hoping, maybe, you could help us out? Food, supplies, a place to stay, that sort of thing?” Hadvar looked hopefully at his uncle. “Please?”

The man smiled. “Of course, any friend of yours is a friend of mine. I'm glad to help however I can.” He turned to look at her, expression serious. “But, I need your help. We need your help.” Of course there was a catch. She wasn't really surprised, though – nor could she say she blamed him. He continued. “The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever soldiers he can. If you'll do that for me, I'll be in your debt.”

She was exhausted – whatever else, she wasn't making the trip tonight, certainly. “All right, but … how do I get to Whiterun from here?”

“Cross the river, and then head north. You'll see it, just past the falls.”

She nodded. “Across the river, head north,” she repeated. She had no idea which way north even was. She'd never learned that kind of skill, had never needed to. Hopefully there would be signs posted – and, hopefully, she'd be able to read them.

He nodded. “Now, when you get to Whiterun, just keep heading up. When you get to the top of the hill, you'll be at Dragonsreach, the Jarl's palace.”

“Okay ...” She considered for a second, then shrugged. She might as well ask it now. “So … a Jarl is some kind of a leader, right? What can you tell me about this Jarl?”

He looked at her for a second, a little confused. “Jarl Balgruuf? He rules Whiterun hold. He's a good man, perhaps over-cautious, but these are dangerous times. So far he's managed to stay out of the war, but that can't last.”

“The war? With the Stormcloaks, then? Which side does he favor?”

He looked thoughtful. “I don't think the Jarl likes either Ulfric or Elisif much. Who can blame him? But I've no doubt he'll prove loyal to the Empire in the end. He's no traitor.”

“Who's Elisif?” Another player, presumably the Empire's pick, but ….

Another look. As though he couldn't quite believe his ears. “Ah … you're new to Skyrim, then? Jarl Elisif, I should say, although only because she was married to Jarl Torygg when he was killed.”

“Who's Jarl Torygg?” She looked at him, in return, confused.

The man sighed. “Torygg was the High King of Skyrim. Ulfric murdered Torygg, you know. Walked right into Solitude and killed him. Shouted him to death, if you believe the stories.”

“Shouted? With some kind of magic?”

He nodded. “You could say that. They call it the Voice.” The General had called it that, as well. So that was why they'd gagged Ulfric … “It's a power that only a select few can master, and they say that Ulfric Stormcloak is one of that few.”

“Good to know.” She decided it was time for a change in topic, then. “Is it all right if I stay here for the night? I don't think I can make the trip tonight.”

He nodded. “Of course, of course. I need to get back to work – Sigrid will take care of you.”

“Thanks.”

A Stranger in Skyrim 5

Chapter Five: The Road

In which everything is calm for a moment.

“Wait!”

There came a loud whoosh from above – she shielded her eyes against the sun, looking up, to see the dragon winging its way across the sky.

Hadvar had more sense. He crouched in the shadow of a big rock until the dragon passed with a roar.

“Looks like he's gone for good this time … but I don't think we should stick around to see if he comes back.” The soldier smiled at her, a tired laugh escaping him. “The closest town from here is Riverwood. My uncle's the blacksmith there, I'm sure he'd help you out.” He started walking away, then. “It's probably best if we split up. Good luck. I wouldn't have made it without your help today.”

She followed, catching up at a slow jog. Split up? Hell no.

They traveled down a broad, ill-defined path from the snowy mountain. “Listen,” Hadvar said after a while. “You should head to Solitude, join up with the Imperial Legion. I'm sure we could use someone like you. And – if the rebels have themselves a dragon, General Tullius is the only one who can stop them.” No … she didn't think the rebels were responsible for the dragon. She didn't say as much though; let him believe what he wanted, for now. But, she remembered that Blondie and the Jarl had been just as surprised at the dragon's appearance as anyone.

“See that ruin up there?” He stopped, and she leaned down, hands on her knees, catching her breath. She wasn't cut out for the 'run everywhere' sort of lifestyle, no. “Bleak Falls Barrow. When I was a boy, that place always used to give me nightmares.”

“Oh?” She looked up at the ruin. It looked like a series of tall arches crawling down the distant mountainside, from here.

He nodded. “Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window at night, that sort of thing. I admit, I still don't much like the look of it.”

Their ill-defined path met up with an actual, cobblestone-paved road. Hadvar kept up the relentless pace until they came to a set of three tall, black and gray stones. “These,” he said, gesturing at them. “These are the Guardian Stones, three of the thirteen ancient standing stones that dot Skyrim's landscape. They're said to grant blessings to those people who prove themselves worthy – go ahead, see for yourself.”

The one to the left had a picture of a masked man wielding daggers on it. Some kind of ninja. To the right, she saw an armored warrior. Straight ahead stood some kind of wizard.

The blessings should correspond to the pictures, right?

She wasn't any kind of sneak-thief, and she wasn't really trained as a warrior. The only thing she had going for her, really, was her mind. She promised herself, then, that she'd study that spellbook – she'd learn magic, if it killed her. Walking forward, she put both hands on the mage stone.

At first, nothing happened. It was just more silly superstition. She sighed, pulling away – only to find that she couldn't. It was like her hands were glued to the stone. Light shone then, tracing the picture of the mage, dotted with lights that were brighter than others. It looked like some kind of constellation map, but she knew there were no stars in Earth's sky that matched that shape – she would've remembered hearing about a mage, warrior, or thief constellation. The light shone then in the big hole in the stone, before shooting upwards into the sky.

A tingling crept up her arms, fizzing in her blood, calling to something inside her … and something inside her responded, opening like a flower to sunlight.

This – this was what she was meant for. She knew it.

A smile crept across her face, as the stone released her. Magic. That was the only explanation for it. She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers. They fizzed with power, but she didn't know how to use it yet. She'd learn, though.

It would come easy to her, she was sure. Everything else did.

“Mage, eh?” Hadvar asked, drawing her attention back to the present. “Well, to each his own. It's not for me to judge. Come on, there's still a ways left to Riverwood.”

She nodded, following once more.

This place, this “Skyrim,” was truly beautiful. Their path ran alongside a river, and it didn't reek. There wasn't a bunch of trash in it – it looked pure, and clean. She was sure she'd never see a washing machine floating downstream in it, if only because such things didn't exist in Skyrim, near as she could tell. Big pine trees lined the road, along with flowers and ferns she couldn't identify. She was looking up at the wide-open sky, admiring the fluffy, white, cotton-candy clouds, when Hadvar spoke again.

“Listen – as far as I'm concerned, you've already earned your pardon.”

Considering she hadn't done a damn thing to be pardoned for, she agreed wholeheartedly.

“But, until we get that confirmed by General Tullius, just stay clear of other Imperial soldiers and avoid any complications, all right?” He turned back to face her, waiting for her response.

She nodded. “Understood.”

“Good.” He continued on down the road.

There rose a howl from the forest, and it rose the small hairs on the back of her neck. Wolves? They wouldn't attack humans, surely. Right?

Wrong.

Two of the beasts lunged out of the forest. “Hadvar!” she cried, bringing the bow to bear. She was slow. He blocked one of the animals' snapping jaws by bashing its face with the shield. It limped to the side, momentarily stunned. She shot for the other one, her arrow sailing over its back to clatter uselessly off the rocky cliff beside them. Frustrated, she dropped the bow and drew the greatsword, One of the wolves bit down on Hadvar's unprotected leg.

She brought the sword down on its spine. Something cracked loudly, and the animal let go, yelping in pain. She thrust her sword at it, but she missed. The wolf limped back, looking between them. Hadvar brought the hilt of his sword down on its muzzle. It fell to the ground, stunned.

The first wolf ran off, deciding, apparently, that they were too tough of prey to handle alone.

“Are you all right?” She sheathed her sword, collected her bow and the arrow she'd shot. He seemed to be favoring that leg, but he nodded once to her question.

“Fine, fine. Glad that wasn't a little bit higher, is all.”

She laughed a bit. “You don't want to be singing soprano, I take it?”

“Exactly.”

They pressed on.

Her skin itched a bit, where her arms were caked with blood and spider guts. She paused by the stream, looking over at Hadvar. “I don't know about you, but I have to get clean before I talk to anybody else.”

“Ah – right, you're right.” He looked down at himself, apparently only just realizing that he, too, was covered in gore. “I should probably wash up, too.”

After some deliberation, she pulled off the boots – which were too big for her anyway – then turned away from Hadvar, walking up to the edge of the stream. It wasn't likely she was going to get much in the way of privacy out here, but she decided that even if it wasn't a dream, she wasn't going to get all worked up over it anyway.

She set her boots on the ground near the water's edge, the bow next to them. Her quiver went next, then the backpack and the greatsword. She unfastened her belt, gently setting it on the ground beside the rest of her things. Tugging the helmet off next, she wriggled her way out of the leather outfit with some effort. It had been much too tight across the chest, but then, it was obviously cut for a man. She breathed a sigh of relief to be free of it.

Hadvar coughed politely. She looked back at him. “What?”

“I – that is, I didn't expect you to ….”

She tilted her head to the side. “Leather shrinks if you get it wet, doesn't it?”

“It depends on if it's treated properly first … but … you ….”

A deep sigh. “Look, I have to get clean. You don't have to watch. In fact I'd kind of prefer you didn't.”

Because I'm ugly.

It wasn't true, not really. Months later, and she still had thoughts like that from time to time. She wasn't particularly body-shy, but she knew she wasn't exactly the definition of beauty, either. Suddenly, being naked didn't sound like such a great idea. She ignored the misgivings that brought warmth to her cheeks, and strode purposefully into the water.

She decided not to voice the second half of that statement. Her therapist would be so proud.

She only had her hands to scrub with, and the water was frigid, not scalding hot like she preferred, but she managed to get the worst of the gore off of her face and arms, and out of her hair, and off of her legs, and everywhere even a little skin had shown itself.

After what felt like forever, she heard splashing behind her. Half-turning, she saw that Hadvar had decided that washing just his face and hands was enough.

“So, I didn't think this through,” she admitted. “If I get into my armor now, it'll still end up wet.”

He laughed slightly, looking at her – and then quickly looking away. “You could try that robe we found, instead?”

“It still smells like ...” She paused. “Right, washing.” She waded to the shoreline. Opening the backpack, she found she had to empty it entirely to reach the hooded robe. The smell wasn't actually that bad, either. To her surprise, the potions had remained corked, so she didn't have a multicolored mess in there. Fantastic. She drew the robe out last.

It took quite a bit of work, but she got it as clean as she was going to get it. Holding it up to her nose, she could still, faintly, detect a whiff of something, but she assured herself no one else would be able to smell it. Mostly, it smelled like water. After she was done, she stepped out of the water, drawing the soaking wet robe over her soaking wet body. All better. Hadvar still wasn't looking at her, though. “Done,” she announced. There was no way the Imperial armor was fitting in the backpack, though she tucked the rest of her things back into their proper places. Strapping the rest of her gear to her body, she opted to carry the armor to Riverwood. Maybe she'd be able to pawn it?

“You know,” Hadvar said abruptly. “I'm glad you decided to come with me.”

She blinked. Well, that was sudden. “Thanks, I think?”

“No, really. It's … you're interesting.”

She didn't really have a reply for that.

A Stranger in Skyrim 4

Chapter Four: The Cave

In which the end is in sight.

They traveled down a narrow corridor. If this passage wasn't supposed to go anywhere, then why light it up with large braziers? Why would the braziers be lit? Apparently someone used this tunnel – pretty frequently, in fact.

“ – I don't know! Just give me a minute, all right?”

More Stormcloaks? Or would they run across some allies for once?

Nope. Stormcloaks.

The closest was a woman wielding a greatsword. Hadvar closed with her.

Mariah held her swords ready, creeping into the room. Two men circled around the other way – she found herself facing off with Warhammer and Greataxe.

Warhammer brought his weapon up, and time slowed to a crawl. She slashed out, desperately, slicing his throat with one of her swords. Blood sprayed, catching her in the face. She blinked, but it didn't really help to clear her vision. She pulled back instinctively, hearing the whoosh of the axe as it travelled past. She swiped her forearm against her eyes – not that it did much good – finding herself back-to-back with Hadvar.

Greataxe swung for her head, she scrambled out of the way. Big weapons swung slow – something that wasn't as true in Amtgard because foam weapons were lighter – she drove her sword into his belly while he was bringing his weapon to bear. There was a splurch as she ripped her sword free. He dropped the axe, clutching his stomach. Without thinking, she swung her sword once more, slashing his throat as well. She was completely covered in gore, and she found herself panting from exertion.

Suddenly, arrow! It whooshed past her head, clattering on the far wall. She ducked, after the fact, looking around. Hadvar, who had taken out Greatsword, was already on it. He ran towards the pair of archers, bashing one out of the way with his shield. He sliced out at the other one, snapping the bow with his sword.

She walked towards them, as Hadvar slashed the second archer's throat. He blocked an arrow with his shield, then drove his sword into the first archer's eye. The first archer fell with a wet thump.

“Well,” she said, panting a little bit. “That was … fun.”

She would not think about the fact she'd killed three people so far. She couldn't think about that right now, not if she wanted to continue living. So, she didn't. It simply wasn't a thing anymore.

“See if there's anything on these rebels you can use, but hurry about it. We need to keep moving.”

She nodded. Greatsword – she'd actually been trained, somewhat, to use a two-handed sword. Florentine was fun to play with, but she was mostly using the right sword only, and it was harder to block while dual-wielding. So, two-hander it was. She sheathed her two broadswords, then went to collect the weapon. The sheath strapped to her back; she had to take the backpack off, put the sheath on, then slide the pack back over her shoulders. She left the sword out. The odds were good she'd need it again in this pit.

Another hallway, this one with a drawbridge for some reason, and then they were in a cave. An actual, cave-like cave, and yet there was still a pair of braziers to light the way. Who cared that much about lighting up caves, anyway? Unless this was some sort of secret exit, which was of course the hope, but then why wouldn't the torturer know about it? It was just outside his domain, after all.

She shook her head, pressing on – and then, behind her, the keep fell in. “Damn it,” Hadvar said grimly. “No going back that way. I guess we're lucky that didn't come down on top of us.” He shook his head. “We'd better push on. I'm sure the others will find another way out.”

She nodded, heading down the stairs. It was chilly in the cave, but that was understandable as a stream ran through it. Following the stream seemed like a good idea, so she did, stepping carefully to avoid getting her feet wet. The stream led to a dead-end, but there was a side passage off of it, lit by a lantern – she walked down that way, taking the lantern with her and ignoring the skeleton it sat by. She wasn't going to die down here. No way.

And then spiderwebs.

She shuddered, just looking at them. They were overhead, they were everywhere. And the next room was full of them. It was just. A. Dream. She could handle spiders, in dreams. She could handle spiders in real life, from a distance. She could handle spiders in real life with Raid. There was no Raid. She could handle this anyway. She could –

It was massive.

She saw it from all the way down the hallway. It was crawling around down there, in the next room – oh gods there were two of them and she was not prepared to handle giant monster spiders. She could not – could not! – force herself to move forward.

“What's wrong?” Hadvar shook her shoulder gently, speaking quietly.

She swallowed heavily. “Spider.”

“Spider?”

She nodded slowly. “Spiders.”

He looked over her shoulder, then gently pushed past her. “We can handle them.”

When he walked down there to face them, she inched forward, covering her head with a hand. She shivered as she passed under a section of cobweb and oh gods she could feel them crawling on her arms and she couldn't think about it or she would completely freeze up – oh gods –

Two more of them crawled down from the ceiling.

Hadvar faced them down without fear. Or at least he didn't seem to be afraid anyway. She shuddered, holding her suddenly-shaking greatsword with both hands. Hadvar killed one easily, another climbed on top of him, mandibles snapping at his face. He shoved at it, trying to get it off. The other two advanced on her.

She swallowed heavily, holding the sword between her and the spiders.

One of them lunged for her and she sliced its forelegs off. It recoiled from her, chittering fiercely. The other lunged at her, and she slashed down on its hideous face.

Green blood oozed from it. The first one lunged for her again – she barely got out of the way in time. Bringing the sword up, she thrust at the spider. Even though they were both dead – they looked dead – she hacked at them repeatedly, until she'd completely exhausted herself, and she had to collapse near the greenish puddles of ex-spider.

Oh gods. She was covered in spider goop, and she swiped at herself, trying to clean it off and it wasn't working and they were still there – she scrabbled back away from the corpses, shaking.

“Are you all right?” Hadvar asked, stepping over the spider bits. One of their legs crackled as he broke it. “No, you're not all right,” he answered himself. “Come here.” He offered her his hand, and she took it, and he had to feel her shaking. He didn't comment on it. “So, spiders, eh?”

She nodded, mutely. He drew her into the room proper, and once she was inside, she couldn't leave fast enough. She ran for the other exit, dragging her sword behind her.

There was another longish hallway – she looked back to make sure no spiders were following – with more stream running through it. She walked a few steps down it, crossing the stream quickly – more distance between her and the spiders – and Hadvar pulled her up short. “Hold up,” he said quietly. “There's a bear just ahead, see her?” He took the bow off his shoulder. “I don't really want to tangle with her right now, but we might have to.”

She nodded slowly as he shoved the bow towards her. “Take this,” he said. So not only did he expect her to be a career criminal, but he expected her to be a master of all weaponry. She wasn't a great shot, but she wasn't terrible either …. “See if you can catch her by surprise, hey?”

He handed her his quiver as well. She sheathed the greatsword first, then took the quiver, hanging it awkwardly across her shoulder. Its strap was long enough, it hung down to sit comfortably against her butt. She could work with this. Drawing one arrow, she nocked it. She drew back to her ear, then slowly let the string return to its default tension. Another draw, she relaxed it again. Finally, she drew, shot – and to her great astonishment, she landed the shot. The bear roared in pain, standing up, then charging them. Oh gods. She reached for another arrow, putting it to the string. This one missed. Hadvar rushed forward, catching the brunt of the bear's assault with his shield with a grunt. He drove his sword up into the massive beast's belly, then dragged it up. The bear's innards splattered onto the ground in front of him. It grunted, looking down, falling to all fours, then falling to its side.

“Good shot,” Hadvar smiled at her again.

She nodded. “Lucky shot. You did good, yourself.”

He continued smiling, wiping his blade off on the bear's pelt. She tried to hand him his bow back, but he wouldn't have it. “Keep it. You might need it down the road.”

Another nod. “Okay.” She slung the bow over her shoulder, and continued onward. She could smell fresh air – this had to be the way out.

“We made it!”

They stepped out into the sunshine together.

A Stranger in Skyrim 3

Chapter Three: The Keep

In which supplies are gathered.

“Looks like we're the only ones who made it,” Hadvar said, grimly, letting go of her arm. “Was that really a dragon? The bringers of the End Times?”

She shook her head. “I mean, probably, it was. It looked like a dragon, anyway, or a wyvern, maybe.”

“Wyvern?” He looked at her for an explanation.

She sighed. Right, he wouldn't know Earth myths; this was apparently not Earth. “Nevermind. But look, if you're talking about an apocalypse, it's not going to happen. Back home, we have apocalypses predicted every other year. It never happens.”

“If you say so.” He looked dubious, though. Probably, his superstitions were too strong. And really, a dragon would make a pretty convincing argument for the end of the world. “Anyway, we should keep moving. Come here, let me see if I can get those bindings off.” She walked forward as he drew his belt knife. He cut through her bonds as carefully as he could, but he still nicked the skin. She winced a bit. She'd never really gotten hurt in a dream before. Shouldn't she be waking up? “There you go.” He smiled at her. “Take a look around, there should be something in here that'll fit you. I'm going to see if I can find something for these burns.”

She honestly doubted they had armor tailored to her exact measurements, but still, she searched through some of the chests. Most of it was too small, but she did find a set of leathers that was obviously sized for a bigger man. She could wear that. She turned her back to the soldier, pulling the rags off. The leather was probably cleaner than the scraps of cloth the Imperials had given her.

That done, she shrugged into the armor. It was tight across the chest, but over all it fit well enough. Were men really expected to wear skirts, too? She glanced over at Hadvar. Apparently so.

She would have to find real pants. She felt rather exposed with just a little skirt protecting her modesty.

She tugged a helmet on over her hair, finding herself pleasantly surprised that it, too, fit well enough. That done, she looked around until she could find a weapon. One sword lay on a bed, another hung from a weapons rack. Both were relatively sharp. Florentine, huh? She could work with it.

She strung their sheathes onto a belt she'd conveniently located, then strapped the belt to her waist. Good times. She was ready to fight, or as ready as she'd ever be.

Suddenly she wished she'd spent a little more time with the stick jockeys at the park.

Oh well.

Hadvar led her down a short hallway to a gate with a pull-chain next to it. A man and a woman were arguing on the other side – the man wanted to get moving as quickly as possible, the woman complained she was out of breath. Well, she could certainly understand that, though she'd had a minute to catch her own breath.

“Hear that?” Hadvar asked quietly. “Stormcloaks. Maybe we can reason with them.” He pulled the chain, and the gate sunk into the floor. Walking into the next room, he held up his hands. “Hold on now, we only want to ….”

One of the Stormcloaks drew a warhammer, another drew a sword and shield.

“If you want to die, so be it!” Hadvar drew his own sword, having never let go of his shield.

Hadvar did most of the work. Warhammer brought the weapon down on his shield, while Sword and Board circled around behind. She crept into the room behind Sword and Board. She knew what she had to do, she'd just never done it with live weaponry.

Hadvar bashed his shield out, catching Warhammer by surprise, knocking her back. He slashed across Warhammer's belly, and she cried out as her intestines spilled from her belly.

She stepped forward, then drove one of her swords into Sword and Board's back. He never saw her coming. There was a sickening noise as she drew the blade out of his back, and oh, there was so much blood – wasn't she supposed to be getting used to the sight of it? He gurgled as he dropped to the floor, and she just stared at him.

This was the part where she was supposed to be sick, but all she felt was a strange fascination. She'd never really killed anyone before. It had been so … easy.

Hadvar said something, but she didn't really notice at first. She poked Sword and Board in the side with her foot. He groaned slightly. He wasn't actually dead. She swallowed heavily. She couldn't have him coming back for seconds, unlikely as it was that would happen. Coup de grace, make it quick and painless, just like in D&D. Only, she wasn't just saying she'd do it, she had to do it. She rolled Sword and Board over. Blood was still oozing from his mouth, he just kind of stared up at her, eyes glassy. She held her sword point at his throat, and her hand was trembling.

She couldn't do it, after all. Not in cold blood, not like this. She pressed the point in, not quite enough to draw blood – then pulled away, shaking her head.

“Are you coming?” Hadvar asked her.

She looked up at him, feeling shaky. “He's not dead,” she whispered.

“Then kill him, and let's move on.” He frowned at her.

She shook her head. “I – I can't,” she explained.

“Oh – I see.” Hadvar shook his head slightly, then drew his own sword again. He slashed across Sword and Board's neck, clean and easy. Blood splattered both of them, spraying with some force.

She felt faint.

He pulled her gently forward, and she followed him, after a moment, down a staircase and to the right.

The dragon roared, and half the keep fell down in front of them. “Look out!” Hadvar fell back for a moment. That could have been right on their heads. What was she doing? What was she thinking? She was going to get killed! This was insanity. Pure, incomprehensible, insanity. “Damn, that dragon doesn't give up easily.” Hadvar inspected the rubble before them as dust and dirt fell around him.

She sneezed.

When the dust finally settled, he walked calmly forward again, opening the door to the next room. She smelled fire and dried herbs. It was some kind of storeroom, but there were also a few tables and chairs, some things sitting on shelves that looked interesting.

“What are you doing? We need to get out of Helgen, now!” She spotted a pair of Stormcloaks at about the same time Hadvar did. She noticed he had a bow hanging from his back about the time he pulled it up over his shoulders. There was a quiver of arrows hanging from his hips – he drew one, fired it. The first Stormcloak fell with an arrow piercing his skull. He was screaming. He was screaming, because he wasn't dead. Another arrow flew, taking the other Stormcloak directly in the throat. Blood bubbled up as he clutched at the wound.

Hadvar hung the bow across his shoulders again, then drew his sword. He came to the first man he'd shot, ripped his arrow free of the skull it was lodged in. Blood oozed from the hole that was left behind. He kicked the Stormcloak until he rolled over, and slashed the man's throat. She watched in horrified fascination. The soldier was quick and efficient. She'd give him that much at least. He pulled the other arrow free of the other dying man's throat. Blood sprayed a little. He wiped both arrows off on the Stormcloak's blue cape, then shoved them back in the quiver.

“Look around, see if you can find anything useful. There should be potions, things like that.”

Potions? As in, magical potions? She spotted something on one of the shelves that could have been a potion. Bringing it to his attention, he nodded. “See that blue liquid inside? That's a potion for mages, restores their magic. And this –” He grabbed a reddish-looking potion from the other cabinet. “This'll be a healing potion. People put just a little dye in them usually, so you know what you're getting when you drink them.”

“Are there any other kinds?” She asked, curiously.

He laughed. “There are all kinds of potions out there, Mariah. You'd be amazed at what a few ground-up herbs can do for a person.”

She thought about it for a moment. Herbal remedies had done wonders for her mom's bad back. Maybe this wasn't really any different from that? Or maybe it was all snake oil. She'd have to try it and see.

She found a few more potions, carrying them tucked under one arm, against her side – some more red ones, another blue, and one greenish potion as well. In one of the sacks, she found a crystal. Hadvar identified it as a 'soul gem.' “What's a soul gem?” she asked.

“They're used by mages. They suck the soul right out of a person, use it for enchanting.”

Hu-uh. She tucked that under her arm, too. Maybe she'd learn more about this magic business later.

After that, they continued onward, down another short hallway and down another staircase. “The torture room,” Hadvar said, expression grim. “Gods, I wish we didn't need these.”

The sounds of combat drifted up from the torture room, battle cries and the clashing of steel.

One Imperial lay on the ground already. Two Stormcloaks had another Imperial backed against the wall. The Imperial shot lightning from his fingertips, and one of the Stormcloaks started convulsing from the sudden pain of it. That was magic then. Magic was real. Good to know.

The other Stormcloak brought a sword down on Magic Man's arm, slicing a big chunk out of it. The lightning stopped, and the first Stormcloak fell to his knees, unable to move for the relentless twitching.

Hadvar sprang into action, drawing his sword and bringing it down across Number Two's back. Number Two reeled from the damage, and Magic Man drew a dagger, slashing his throat with an expression almost like glee. He opened one of the cages that lined the wall with a key, then threw the first Stormcloak – still jerking about like a fish on a line – into the cell. “You happened along just in time,” the man informed them, closing the cell door and locking it again. “These boys seemed a bit upset at how I'd been entertaining their comrades.”

“Don't you even know what's going on?” Hadvar demanded. “A dragon is attacking Helgen!”

The man – probably the torturer, if this was a torture chamber – laughed. “A dragon? Please, don't make up nonsense.” He paused, thoughtfully. “Although, come to think of it, I did hear some rather odd noises coming from over there.” He smiled, walking over to one of the cages. A dead body lay inside, with a book, another potion, and some gold coins. She had to assume that was the local currency. Gold was heavy, though.

“Come with us, we need to get out of here,” Hadvar demanded.

The torturer folded his arms. “You have no authority over me, boy.”

“Didn't you hear me? I said the keep is under attack!” The torturer walked off, behind a counter. He didn't seem particularly concerned about the matter.

Hadvar paused, looking into the cage the torturer had been looking at. “Wait a minute, it looks like there's something in here.” He looked over at her, thoughtfully.

“Don't bother with that. Lost the key ages ago. Poor fellow screamed for weeks.” The torturer clearly enjoyed his job; he said the words with relish.

Hadvar rooted around in a pouch at his side, finding some thin strips of metal. “Here, see if you can get it open with some picks, hey?” He handed her the picks, and she looked down at them, then back at the cage. What, did he expect her to be some kind of career criminal, then? He did!

“I don't know how ….”

He smiled. “It's easy. Here, let me show you.” He tugged her gently towards the cage, which smelled of rotting meat. She set down the potions and the soul gem, putting her hands near the lock. He handed her a thin blade, as well. “Now, like this.” He held his hands on hers, showing her what to do – it wasn't actually all that hard, though she suspected the lock wasn't made to be terribly challenging.

“Now – that's a tome of magic if I ever saw one, and those kinds of robes are usually enchanted with magic. I'd take it all.” So she did, carefully undressing the man. Apparently he didn't believe in underwear – fortunately for her, she wasn't particularly affected by displays of nudity. The robe would have to be washed before she even thought of wearing it. Thoroughly washed. She was not wearing anything that still smelled of dead guy, nor did she imagine it'd sell well.

But how to carry – ah, she found a backpack lying on an end table. Whoever it used to belong to, it was hers now. She peered inside – there was already one book, so she tucked the spellbook in on top of it. She carefully folded the hooded robe, then stuffed it inside. Atop that, she rested the potions, soul gem, and the small handful of gold pieces. She just had to hope the potions' corks would hold. Slinging the backpack on, she shifted a bit until it settled into place. Awesome.

As they proceeded down the next hall, the torturer called after them, “There's no way out that way, you know.” She shook her head and continued to follow Hadvar. She had more faith in her current traveling companion than that.

They passed several locked cells on the way, and she tried not to look too closely at the contents. There was at least one old, bloody skeleton in there, and she had no doubts in her mind it, too, was real.

Another couple of hallways – all of them lit by open firepits or candles – and then they came upon a large room. It was decorated with cages, some standing, some fallen, most of which were inhabited by dead people. At the far end of the room, she spotted an old, broken-down section of wall. That must be it. The exit.

Hadvar called, “This way,” and she followed.

A Stranger in Skyrim 2

Chapter Two: The Dragon

In which fire is generally bad.

The dragon opened its mouth and sound rushed out, a disorienting wave of it that knocked her sideways. She … understood it, just as she'd understood the foreign tongue, though she couldn't put meaning to it in the traditional sense. It just … it meant force.

The soldier put himself between her and the dragon, his sword drawn. Not that it would likely do him much good. The dragon shouted again, and she didn't see what happened next; she tumbled to her other side, facing away from her imminent doom.

“Guards!” The general shouted. “Get the townspeople to safety!”

She shifted slightly, rolled back on her toes, standing without the use of her hands. She'd heard that particular trick was hard for some people – it was easy for her. Her head spun, her ears rung. She shook her head to clear it.

Blondie was there. Somehow, he'd gotten his hands free, and he was beckoning her. “Hey – Blue – get up! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!” When he knew she was up and moving, he turned. “This way!” He began running toward a tower. After a moment or two, she followed him, passing a dying Imperial soldier on the way. There was blood and fire everywhere ….

It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the tower, and the first thing she saw was a pair of half-dead Stormcloaks. Another knelt nearby, tending to their wounds. How had it wrought so much destruction so quickly?

“Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing?” Blondie – Ralof – sounded urgent. Everything was urgent. Her head was spinning. “Could the legends be true?”

The Jarl's voice was deep, she noted. “Legends don't burn down villages.” He turned his attention towards her, and she felt small all of a sudden. “We need to move – now!”

Ralof nodded. “Up through the tower, let's go!”

She followed Ralof up through the tower, panting before she reached the top. She was not in good enough shape to be facing off with a dragon. Definitely not. A soldier was digging at some rubble – apparently the tower had begun collapsing from the top already.

The dragon was there, and suddenly a big chunk of the wall was not. He spoke Fire, and then fire shot from his mouth to engulf the soldier, who screamed, flailing his arms to try and put out the flames. The stone didn't burn long, but the soldier was doomed. He flopped to the floor, so much ash. The dragon flapped off.

Ralof beckoned her forward. “See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going!”

She stared at him like he was crazy. It was a ridiculous feat he expected of her. She couldn't jump that distance, and even if she could it was a long drop. She'd break her legs. She shook her head, taking a step back. He tugged her forward. “What are you waiting for – go! We'll catch up to you when we can.”

She still balked at the distance – until he shoved her forward. She teetered on the edge, flailing a bit, and then fell towards the inn.

She landed belly-down on the thatched side of the roof, scrabbling for any handhold, sliding towards the edge. She didn't want to fall, but it didn't look like she had much of an option. She slid down, falling to land on her ass with a thump. Ow. Everything hurt now. Fantastic.

She stood again – because it was urgent – and then immediately covered her head with her arms as part of the tower fell, flaming rocks showering her.

Through the inn. She'd survive this dream somehow – she'd already missed her appointment with Death earlier, so now she had no choice but to continue. She edged around the wall. Stairs, that would take her inside the inn, then she'd figure out where to go from there, right?

Except, not only was the inn on fire, but more importantly, there was no way through. What was she supposed to do now?

There was one section – a cupboard that hadn't yet started to burn. Gods, it was hot – she shuddered, then began to climb over it, fire licking at her arm. She liked fire, but she didn't much care for the idea of burning alive. She made it over – it wasn't that hard of a climb, so even she could manage it – and out the front door of the inn. She'd have burns, but at least she was alive. That was better than a lot of people could say today.

The fire had felt so real, though ….

She came upon two men – the soldier and some other guy. The soldier was beckoning to a small child – the child from before? Surely not. “Haming, you need to get over here, now!”

The child ran towards him – and the dragon spoke fire.

Flames engulfed the boy. No. No, that didn't … that didn't make sense. Children weren't supposed to die – that just wasn't right. But it was true. She didn't know how to take that. The cold, practical side of her pointed out that children were just as mortal as everyone else – and she was particularly mortal. She had to get out of this hellhole before she, too, was set ablaze.

“Haming!” The soldier screamed his denial. “No!”

She ran forward then, dragging the soldier back. “You can't help him, now.”

He looked back and up at her, lost. She didn't know what he read in her expression, but he swallowed, nodding once. “You – you're right.”

Well, he took that better than she was taking it. She could felt her hands trembling.

“Let's – let's go. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense.” She let him go, and he ran off. She followed at a slow jog.

“Stay close to the wall!” She dropped into a crouch, obeying without question. The dragon landed right above them, its wingtip so close she could have touched it.

Oh gods, she was going to die.

The dragon spoke fire, and fire engulfed a soldier, though fortunately not the soldier she was following. She had to believe this was some kind of horrible dream, and she'd wake up soon. As long as she believed that, she could ignore the screams, the way the man's flesh melted from his bones. The smell of charred meat was everywhere.

She was going to be sick. She was going to be horribly, violently sick. She'd never had smells invade her dreams before, and her arms still hurt from the burns.

Oh gods, this wasn't a dream, and she was going to die.

“Quickly, follow me!”

The dragon had taken flight – now was the only time to run. So, she ran, still following the soldier.

The general shouted at the soldier. “Hadvar!” All right, his name was apparently Hadvar. “Into the keep, soldier! We're leaving!”

All around, she could hear the sounds of screaming, dying people.

And it was all. So. Real. She felt herself shaking, terror overtaking her. She couldn't move as that massive black shape swooped down overhead. Fire blazed from its maw, and she found herself feeling relieved because it got someone else. She got to live. The soldier turned back to look at her, then trotted back to shake her by the shoulders. “Snap out of it!” She looked up and over at him. “Look, if we don't get inside the keep, and I mean now, that dragon will eat the both of us! You don't want that, do you?” She shook her head, mutely. “Then come on!”

The soldier – Hadvar – dragged her along by her arms. Well, he'd only grabbed the one, but they were kind of bound together at the wrists.

“Ralof, you damned traitor! Out of our way!”

Oh, it was Blondie again, she noted, dully. “We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time!”

“Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!” Hadvar dragged her towards the keep, so she went, stumbling after him.

The door slammed shut behind them.

A Stranger in Skyrim 1

Chapter One: Dreaming

In which an execution is postponed.

She woke slowly, feeling groggy. Ugh, she'd forgotten her meds, hadn't she? She blinked sleep from her eyes, but they were still blurry. Then again, they were always blurry. She needed glasses for a reason ….

She heard a horse snort, and the sound of wheels clattering on stone. The sound was jarring – she had never been in a horse-drawn carriage, but she realized with sudden clarity that she had apparently been sleeping in one. She sat up, looking around. Slowly, her eyes adjusted until she could see perfectly. That was even more alarming.

She looked down, to find her hands bound, her clothes replaced with thin rags that did nothing for the cold. What was going on? Where was she?

Across from her sat a similarly bound man, blond and muscular, with a hint of a beard. She noted that he apparently got to keep his clothing; he was dressed in chain mail with a brown padded gambeson over it, and blue cloth over that. He was watching her. She looked back at him, uncertain.

“The mystery girl wakes.” That was not English. That was not English, but she understood it as clearly as if he'd been speaking her native tongue. “Tell me, Blue, what province do you come from?”

She shook her head to clear it. “Province?,” she said, hesitantly, shocked to discover that she, too, was speaking the foreign tongue.

He looked at her a little strangely. “Well, wherever you're from, you picked a bad time to come to Skyrim, friend. You walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.” He shook his head, sadly.

The thief was dressed in rags no better than hers, she noted. Like everyone else in the carriage, he, too, had his hands bound. “Damn you, Stormcloaks,” he scowled. “Skyrim was fine before you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.” The thief looked straight at her. “You there – you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”

“We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.”

The soldier driving the carriage looked back at them. “Shut up, back there!”

“Anyway, what's wrong with him, eh?” The thief jerked his chin at the last man in the carriage. From the looks of him, he was some kind of nobleman, with fluffy fur covering heavy chain mail. Not only was he bound, but the … Imperials? … had gagged him, as well.

The blond guy snapped, “Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!”

“Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you – oh gods – where are they taking us?”

Blondie sounded defeated. “I don't know where we're going … but Sovngarde awaits.”

“No,” the thief whimpered. “This can't be happening, this isn't happening!”

She looked between them, confused. She had to be dreaming. This was not her warm, safe, bed, in her warm, safe, home. And if they were prisoners, shouldn't they have something a little more restrictive than wide-open carts? And weapons somewhat more modern than swords? She liked medieval weaponry, but she knew guns would be infinitely more effective.

Well, if it was a dream, it was her dream, and she'd just have to go along with it.

Blondie looked back towards the thief. “Hey – ” he said quietly. “What village are you from, horse thief?”

“Why do you care?” She didn't like the thief. He was so whiny.

Blondie smiled tiredly. “A Nord's last thoughts should be of home.”

“Rorikstead. I – I'm from Rorikstead.” Great, another place she'd never heard of.

Someone up ahead shouted. “General Tullius, sir, the headsman is waiting!”

“Good,” someone else replied. “Let's get this over with.”

“Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh – Divines, please help me!” Why would the gods help a thief? At least, she assumed the 'Divines' were gods of some sort. Maybe they were some kind of equal-opportunity gods. Gods who overlooked the various failings of a man. That would be new.

They rolled into a town of some sort, and oh, it was medieval. Thatched roofing, wooden huts. The walls and towers were made of stone, but it was rough, not the perfectly precise bricks she was used to.

“Look at him,” Blondie called her attention back. “General Tullius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this.” Elves? Elves? Really? She craned her neck to try and get a good look at them, but the carriage had already moved on by the time she took interest.

“This is Helgen.” Blondie's eyes went a little distant. “I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in ...” He shook his head. “Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.”

She heard a child's high voice ask who they were, and where they were going. His father shooed him inside the house – well, apparently it was an execution they were headed to. She wouldn't want her child to see something like that, if she had a child.

A woman's voice now, “Get these prisoners out of the carts. Move it!”

“Why are we stopping?” Whiny asked, his voice fearful.

Blondie just looked at him. “Why do you think? End of the line.” The carriage rolled to a stop. “Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us.” He stood. After a moment, she followed, standing shakily.

“No, wait! We're not rebels!” Whiny cried.

Blondie sighed. “Face your death with some courage, thief.”

The others hopped out of the cart – she took her time crawling carefully down. She didn't like any kind of height, even a short drop like that.

“You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!” The reality of the situation was slowly dawning on her, as well. What if she died in a dream? Would she just wake up, or what would happen to her in the real world? No, she couldn't think of that. Something would happen, and she'd make it out alive. That was the way dreams worked.

“Step toward the block when we call your name. One at a time!” The woman was dark-skinned, wearing heavy plate armor. She'd never seen real plate, nothing nearly so fine, anyway.

She glanced over at Blondie. He sighed again. “Empire loves their damned lists.”

There was a long line of people ahead of them, all dressed in the same uniform – padded gambeson over chain mail, blue cloth over that. Finally, the man called, “Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.”

“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric.”

The soldier called again. “Ralof, of Riverwood.” Blondie stepped forward next. “Lokir, of Rorikstead.”

“No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!” The thief stepped forward – and then began running.

The woman cried out. “Halt!”

“You're not going to kill me!” Lokir called.

When the thief did not comply, she shouted again. “Archers!” The thief promptly became a pincushion, tumbling to the ground. Blood oozed from him as she watched. She'd never seen a man die before, even in dreams. She wasn't sure what to think, but there was a sense of relief to it. At least it wasn't her.

“Anyone else feel like running?” The woman's gaze fell on her, and she shook her head slowly. She'd been shot with arrows before – even heavily padded, they hurt. She couldn't imagine the pain of live weaponry punching through her.

The man looked at her, now, as well. “You there, step forward.” She did, slowly. He was dressed in a leather jerkin with a skirt that covered his upper thighs. “Who are you?”

“My name is Mariah,” she said uncertainly. The strange language tumbled from her lips. “I don't know where I am, but there has to be some kind of a mistake – I didn't do anything.” She tried to make her case quickly. “I've never been to – to Skyrim – before in my life – I've never even heard of it before. Please, let me go, I'll do whatever you want.” This was her one shot to convince them not to kill her.

“Captain …” the soldier said, looking towards the armored woman. “What should we do? She's not on the list.”

“Forget the list.” The captain said it dismissively. “She goes to the block.”

The soldier nodded grimly. “By your orders, Captain.” He turned his attention back to her. “Forgive me.” He looked a little sad, at least.

She considered running, but where would that get her, really? Shot dead on the spot. There was still a chance something would happen to save her. She just had to hold out hope.

“Follow the captain, Mariah.” His accent butchered her name, but it wasn't like she was in a position to take offense, really.

So, she did, pausing in the middle of the line. A man stood before the Jarl, arms folded. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero.” He shook his head. “A hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.” The Jarl grunted, unable to respond for the gag over his mouth. “You started this war!” The general – she recognized his voice from before – poked the Jarl in the chest. “Plunged Skyrim into chaos! Now, the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!”

A sound, then, a distant roar that made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up. “What was that?” the soldier asked.

“It's nothing, carry on.”

The captain snapped a salute. “Yes, General Tullius!” She looked toward a woman dressed in brown, with a yellow hood. “Give them their last rights.”

The priestess – for that was what she appeared to be – raised her hands. “As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are –”

One of the Stormcloaks stepped forward. “For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with.”

“As you wish.”

“Come on, I haven't got all morning!”The red-haired Stormcloak stood before the block, until the captain shoved him down so his head was resting on it. “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?”

The headsman's axe went up. The headsman's axe came down. Suddenly, there was a body without a head, blood squirting from the stump like an effect in a cheesy horror show – only, she could smell it, taste it in the air. She shuddered, eyes wide. People were talking, but she couldn't understand them.

The captain pointed at her. “Next, the prisoner in the rags!”

The roar came again, echoing over the distant mountains. “There it is again, did you hear that?” The soldier looked around.

“I said, next prisoner!”

The soldier took her arm when she didn't immediately move forward, gently led her to the block. “Nice and easy.” She stared down at the box. The redhead was already lying inside. There wasn't enough room for another head. She began to laugh, a little hysterically. This wasn't happening. It was all a dream. She had to believe that. She'd wake up just before they cut her head off. She had to believe that.

They shoved her down so she was kneeling on the man's body. Never had a dream felt so real. She could feel him under her, could feel the sticky blood on her knees. When they lowered her face to the block, she turned her head to avoid getting blood all over her face, though some got on her cheek anyway. It couldn't be avoided. She realized she was shaking, almost violently.

The headsman's axe went up, and she closed her eyes, bracing for the impact.

Another roar went up. The General's voice, then – “What in Oblivion is that?!”

“Sentries,” the captain called. “What do you see?”

“It's in the clouds!”

She cracked her eyes open, and a massive thing descended from the sky, landing on the tower in front of her. The headsman was knocked off his feet by the impact.

She'd never seen one, had never believed they existed.

But even she could identify it.

“Dragon!”

Apocalyptic Log - Ayala

They say only the strong survive.
I aim to prove "them" wrong.
The world has been devastated by nuclear war.
My name is Toni Ayala. I'm a witch. And I'm going to save the world.
I've taken a job at the local hospital. It isn't pretty, but I've got my foot in the door.
One day, I'll lead the restoration efforts.
For now, they tell me I'm an on-call organ donor. I think they were joking.

---

Ugh. The conditions at the hospital are medieval at best. I've been promoted to cleaning out bedpans. The water we get to use is just as filthy as the messes we're supposed to be cleaning, but at least it's water, I suppose. That's more than most people have right now.

---

There's a family in the next bunker over. They seem so happy, despite everything. That's what I'm working for. Those children need people like me.

---

The mob stopped by for their weekly cut. I spent the whole day crying from hunger pains, and the bastards had the audacity to eat their protein rations in front of me. Then, they even made off with my new couch! Said it was too good for me. Sure, I can get another, but still, it's the principle of the thing. It disgusts me.

---

I've been working my ass off to become an intern, to really begin medical practice. I've been studying constantly, whenever I have a free moment. Today, it finally happened. I'll learn from the best doctors in the area, and then I'll be the best.

---

We're so understaffed. I don't think I've seen a normal human in the place, and the "best" doctor is a resident werewolf barely more competent than I am.

---

A man walked by my shelter today. Cyrus Sepulveda. He's ... interesting. Okay, he's hot. Plus, he actually is a normal human. You just don't see many of those these days.

---

I had to fight past some zombies to get to the hospital tonight, and when I got there, they tell me there's a patient with a blood type identical to mine, in desperate need of at least one working kidney. I've got two, would I please donate one? I had no choice but to let the werewolf operate on me. It was successful - barely - but .... gods, the facilities are barbaric. I half-expect to get an infection, even though my witch blood makes me resistant to disease.

---

I swear, aliens keep landing on top of my bunker. Aliens. What.

---

The trick to success is to always keep pushing forward. I'm so close I can taste it. We're working on getting clean watter arranged, we've begun trying experimental procedures at the hospital. Conditions are improving. I feel like I'm making a difference. I really do.

---

We've done it! It's still ongoing, of course, but the restoration efforts are underway. As a reward for all of my contributions, I got the first shower and laundry facilities in the area, not to mention a fertility treatment. Cyrus and I have been talking, and neither of us are getting any younger. We agreed to marry, just an informal ceremony, and he moved in with me.
Naturally, we consummated our relationship as quickly as possible. I'm positively glowing right now. Everything is going right in my world, besides the zombies and the nuclear winter, anyway.

---

Damn it, damn it, damn it!
They cut our rations. Cyrus, naturally, decided to be the gentleman, give me his share. I'm pregnant, he said, I needed it more. I spent the whole night puking up my guts, but I needed the food more than he did. It couldn't last for long. He - he starved to death, right in front of me. I kept trying to get him to eat, something, anything, but he refused, right until the end.
What do I do now?

---

Twins, and oh, they're beautiful. If only Cyrus had lived. It's a boy and a girl, Anthony and Maria. I can tell, just by looking at them, they have the gift.
Now I have to survive. They need me.
I need them.

---

It's been a long time since I last wrote - raising the twins took a lot out of me. But it's done. No more baby bottles, no more dirty diapers. If this were Before, they'd be starting school, making friends.
If only ....
I can feel my mind slipping away from me. I know the word for it, even if I can't stop it. No amount of medical knowledge could prepare me for the ill effects of advancing age - and it's more than just growing old. It's a kind of madness settling in, seeping into every corner of my mind. Senility, or worse.
At least I can rest easy, knowing there's a brighter future ahead. Even if my mind does fail, even if the world we used to know is gone, I know in my heart there's always hope.
My children will carry on my legacy. I've raised them to do great things.
One day, I'll show my daughter this diary. She'll continue the tale.
People need to know how the end of the world became a new beginning.

Humanity

Seeing what became of Its elves, The Magus was not particularly bothered. With their long lives, infrequent births, and inherent caution, they had been rather boring. It created a few more elves, hiding them in the far reaches of the world so their cousins could not easily find them. Once It had done this, It turned to Its next project. These, It decided, would not be so boring.

They looked almost elven, these new creations, though they were stronger in build. These, It turned greenish-gray, and It gave them short, brutal lives. They had sharp teeth, and were completely unafraid.

But It made their lives too short. They had little care for the long aeons ahead. These creatures, It named orcs, and they did spread to many parts their predecessors had left untouched in their fear. They formed large, warlike bands, creating a rough, cruel society. For a while, It was content to watch their incessant infighting, but It quickly became bored.

And so it went.

The Magus created many races in this way. Some had long lives, some had short. Most were unafraid of the dark, many could see with little light. It even revisited the elves, twisting Its creations into new forms.

But none of Its creations held Its attention long.

Finally, It focused Itself. Its new project had to have a shorter lifespan than the elves, or It would get bored of them quickly, but longer than the orcs, or It would have little use for them in the long run. They couldn't be timid or fearful, but nor could they be completely unafraid. They wouldn't be as strong as the orcs, nor as fragile as the elves. This new creation would be a middle ground, a compromise between all Its previous creations.

And they would be perfect.

It called them humans, and they quickly outstripped the orcs in their exploration. They had lives just long enough to taste eternity, without being frozen by it. They planned for a future they would never live to see. They had genius, they had madness, they had paragons and villains, they had brutal destroyers and peaceful healers.

They were chaos.

And The Magus loved them dearly.

Plague

It came to pass that Dios favored a certain group of mortals greatly. These mortals were called elves, and they were full of life. The Magus's power shone brightly in them. They were the first mortals It put Its entire self into creating, and that light was a beacon. Every elf that gave praise to the Sun, gave praise to the Light, was another spark of The Magus's power reclaimed.

Nyx grew envious.

She had no mortals of her own to play with. The elves, as She knew, feared the Night, for they could not see in the darkness. In the beginning, the elves were the only mortals worth playing with: they were the only mortals who could think. They made plans, they had dreams. No other mortal could boast such things.

And so Nyx went down amongst the elves at night, disguising Herself as a beautiful, if blind, young woman.

"Why do you hide?" She called out to them, standing in the town square.

One very brave elf cracked open the shutters to his window to respond. "It isn't safe," he explained. "You should go inside."

She shook Her head. "The Night is beautiful, if only you could see It." She beckoned the elf, and he closed the window to Her.

So it went. Nyx would cajole the elves to leave their homes, and one by one, the elves refused, until at last, a small child left her empty home. Nyx knew this child. Once in the forest, her family had been slaughtered by wolves. Nyx had watched with interest, but had not intervened.

"They won't come," the child explained. "They are too afraid."

Nyx smiled down at the child. "Why are they so afraid, little one?"

"The darkness hides fearsome beasts," said the girl. "We cannot see them to fight back."

Nyx rested a hand over the girl's eyes. "Then I will give you sight to pierce the darkness," She spoke, and so it was. The girl could see in darkness.

"The creatures are too strong to fight, Mistress," said the child.

And Nyx shifted Her hand, resting it atop the child's head. "Then I shall make you strong enough to face any challenge. No beast will be too great for you."

The Goddess did this for each member of the clan Ba'naelro, and She became diminished for her efforts. Her spark shone dark, shadowing The Magus' own, and her people were strong.

God-touched, Her children did not age. They were masters of all beasts. They were strong, and they were cunning. However, although as creatures of the light they had been able to suffer the darkness, as Children of Night, the reverse was no longer true. Sunlight burned them, as did places and things consecrated to Dios. Submersion in fresh waters weakened them, burning their skin like acid.

However, the Night was beautiful to them, and they were powerful. They became content with their new place in the world, and Nyx was content with her single clan of mortals.

One day, Dios learned of this treachery.

He raged endlessly, unable to find, much less punish, the wayward tribe. In His stead, He sent His most powerful clerics, and His fiercest warriors, to kill the Night Children.

The Night Children sent the warriors and clerics back in pieces, suffering only few losses.

So it continued for some time, and this grieved Nyx. She is above all else, a goddess of healing, not war. Her children's deaths weighed heavy on her heart, especially as they could not reproduce as mortals did to replenish their numbers.

In her grief, Nyx bestowed upon her children new powers. They would be able to become as beasts, or fine mist, and they could heal any wound

Most importantly, by sharing their blood with a true mortal, they could create new Night Children, and thereby replenish their ranks. These new creatures were the first vampires, and they did not have the divine spark their parents were given. They craved it, needed it to sustain their power - no, their very lives. Before long, they turned on their parents, killing almost every last elf of the clan Ba'naelro.

Then, when there were no more Children to be found, the vampires turned outward. They hunted down any elves they could find. Some did choose to expand their numbers, creating a great many vampires. Many did not, choosing instead to leave a wake of drained bodies behind.

So ended the time of the elves.