Prologue
You Troll Headed Oaf of a Man,
“I’m off to kill the World Eater, shouldn’t take long.
Love, Joric”
I don’t care if you are a reincarnated dragon in a man’s body, how am I supposed to react when my husband disappears and leaves a note like that? By Ysmir, I was hysterical!
One of the women in town tried to console me this morning thinking you’d left for another woman. So I had to tell her that my husband doesn’t chase girls in his free time he kills dragons and rips their immortal souls from their corpses. I would have told her how you like to turn its bones into weapons and armor when you get home but she left before I could tell her that.
Now people look like I’m the one who’s mad when it’s my stupid husband who fancied himself a god killer! Alduin doesn’t need to lift a claw, when you get back home I’ll kill you myself!
Lydia
The Nord stopped reading and let his arms fall to his side, taking some time to reflect on what his wife wrote to him. After a moment he reread the letter to make sure he really understood what it said. He did so again and again, each time he did so he felt a weight in his gut that only grew heavier. He realized he had made a grave mistake when leaving his home.
He should have left a longer note.
“Dovakhiin?”
A note explaining that he was going to capture a dragon and force it to reveal Alduin’s location probably would have been best. Lydia knows he’s worked with dragons before. That would put her at ease.
“Dovakhiin.”
Then again, even if he did put that in a note there’s no way he could have known that Alduin was actually in Sovngarde or that he would need a dragon to take him there. He could have sworn that all he needed to do was ride to a dungeon, kill it, and be home in time for supper. She couldn’t fault him for that right?
“Dovakhiin Morah!”
Jolted out of his reverie, the Dragonborn finally took notice of the dragon he was riding. “Sorry, Odahviing. What were you saying?” he asked.
The dragon was irritated. “Ruth Strun Bah.” It said more to itself than the man on his back. Turning its head it addressed the Nord directly, raising its voice to be heard over the wind. “Prepare yourself Dovahkiin! Skuldafn lies below!”
The Dragonborn took heed and tucked the letter safely away inside his armor. He gripped the dragon’s scales as he was pitched forward and his stomach dropped. The dragon pulled in its wings and shot towards the ground below. Jagged peaks stabbed at them like giant spears as Odahviing dived. In the split second Joric was sure they would slam into a mountainside, massive wings unfurled, slowing their freefall into a leisurely glide. Riding the air currents the dragon navigated impassable terrain in seconds what would have taken Joric days to circumvent.
After a few minutes the mountains fell away to reveal a small valley with Nordic ruins at its center. They flew a half circle before landing in a small clearing at the base of the ruins. The Dragonborn stepped off the dragon and gazed upon the looming structure before him.
“This is as far as I can take you. Krif Voth Ahkrin. I will look for your return, or Alduin’s.” the dragon said, turning away.
Panic filled the man’s heart. He still needed help. “Wait! I need to ask you something.”
“I have fulfilled my promise Dovakhiin. I’ll not aid you anymore against Alduin. Not unless you return victorious. Bo Nu.” He said extending his wings ready to fly.
“Forget Alduin. This is far more important! I need-” a powerful gust blew over Joric as Odahviing flew into the air, leaving the Nord coughing on all the dust he inhaled. After he cleared his throat he looked to the sky and shouted.
“I NEED HELP WITH MY WIFE!”
The dragon picked up speed and quickly left the valley, unaware of the Dragonborn’s pleas or more likely, very aware. His shoulders slumped as the man realized that he wouldn’t be getting any help. He would need to find his own way to save his marriage.
So he set off towards the ruins deep in thought. The last time Lydia was angry I had tracked dragon blood onto the new carpet she had bought for the homestead. Crossing a stone bridge he could see a draugr on the end with a bow. His hands moved instinctively, taking the Dragonplate shield from his back and holding it aloft as the undead caught saw of him.
But that time the solution was easy. She needed a new rug so I went out and killed a mammoth for its fur. Simple. He heard more than felt the arrows breaking against his shield. He calmly made his way towards the draugr.
Now there isn’t something I can kill to make it all better. So what should I do? Think Joric, think! Before the draugr could fire its next arrow the Nord stepped in close. Drawing the Dragonbone sword from his waist he severed the bow arm of the draugr in one smooth motion. Without pausing he moved behind the undead and put his blade all the way through its chest. Its armor powerless against the razor sharp edge.
I could make her a matching set of armor! Me with my heavy dragon plate and her with light dragon scale. We would be the most fashionable couple in all the Nine Holds! With a smile he pulled out his sword and walked away from the corpse. Making his way towards the entrance of the ruins. Seven draugr stood before a large door shuffling back and forth. He moved quickly towards the undead, until he suddenly stopped cold.
Would armor be enough to make her happy? I know I would love some matching armor but would she feel the same? The draugr ceased their shuffling as they focused on the unmoving Nord. Raising their weapons, they moved in for the kill. Muttering all the while in their ancient guttural tongue.
Two draugr with black greatswords held high struck as one. Their swords clanged against stone as their target sidestepped and sheared through the neck of one of his attackers. Using the momentum from his swing he spun and struck the other with his shield. Crushing armor and bone alike as he sent it flying.
Something else then. He turned to face the remaining undead. Maybe an expensive gift of some sort. One came close and swung a sword at his head. Joric ducked under the blow and used his shield to sweep the draugr’s legs out from under it. Before it could even hit the ground Joric stabbed downward, pinning it against the ground, bones rattling. I could get her some jewelry. Women like jewelry. I’ll stop by a shop somewhere and buy the prettiest thing they have.
“Dir Volaan!” the shout came from behind him. The Nord raised his shield, stopping the blade aimed at his back. He let go of his sword and shoved the draugr’s blade away with his shield, putting it off balance. In the split second it faltered he rose taking his Dragonbone dagger from its sheath and drove it into the draugr’s skull. Cold blue eyes stared out at him, twitched once, and then ceased. Sapphires. Sapphires would look great on Lydia.
He turned to his three remaining attackers, letting his dagger fall with the corpse it was embedded in. These ones seemed a trifle more cautious than their comrades. Seeing their prey unarmed they charged at once. Joric noted that they were moving close together.
Just close enough.
He took one step back, not out of fear. Putting his weight on his back foot he leaned forward slightly. Right as the draugr raised their swords to strike he took a deep breath. Then he Shouted.
“FUS RO DAH!”
An explosion of sound erupted from the man’s throat focused directly at the charging undead. A wall of unrelenting force slammed into the draugr and kept going. Flung backwards like ragdolls they crashed into the door of the ruins and blew them wide open. Joric held still for a moment to check each undead he had slain. None stirred.
Satisfied he retrieved his weapons and returned them to their proper places on his belt. Then he strode towards the now open entrance to the ruins. Icy blue eyes glared unblinkingly from the skulls of the fallen draugr as he passed them by. Sapphires are nice but they’re a bit too common. What if Lydia saw another girl with sapphire jewelry as well? The Nord suppressed a shiver as he moved into the dimly lit interior.
The sound of his footsteps echoed throughout the structure, though the beat was slow its cadence did not waver. Room after room, hallway after hallway stood empty. Each place reverberating slightly differently. The pitch and sound morphing to fit whatever space they filled. Lydia deserves something that suits her.
The constant echoes died out as he entered a cavernous hall. He stood still, letting silence rein once more. He turned his head to gaze upon the things that surrounded him. Gold, jewels, and all manner of other priceless trinkets filled the space. Nothing that could be found at some common store. Something that is unlike everything else in Skyrim.
Looking at the far end of the room the man paused. Widening his stance as he slowly drew his sword. Something unique.
Ancient bones creaked and grated as the corpse rose from its throne. Centuries old armor, worn and dusty as it was, bore no clear imperfections. The Deathlord reached down and hefted a two handed dragonbone battleaxe with ease. Its voice was filled with malice “Bolog aaz,mal lir.”
Joric began to move, picking up speed as he closed the distance between himself and the Deathlord. Before he could get too close he heard the thing breath a word “Fus…” Immediately he threw himself behind a large mound of gold. “RO DAH!”
He felt the shock of the Thu’um through the mound as gold rained from the impact. He knew he had a small window before the draugr could Shout again. He turned and scaled the pile of gold that had served as his protection. As he reached the top he jumped, raising his sword high he swung downward with all his might at the undead on the other side.
An almighty clang resounded through the room as Joric’s attack was blocked by the raised shaft of the Deathlord’s battleaxe. Joric was sent reeling, his arm numbed by the force of the blow. Rather than falling back however he planted his feet and hurled himself at his foe.
The two unleashed a flurry of blows upon one another. Joric could deflect the battleaxe with his shield but couldn’t get in position for a strike that could pierce the draugr’s armor. Each swing of the axe he could counter, but they were too powerful to risk letting through. It was a stalemate.
The rain of blows continued, each side searching for any sign of weakness in the other. Time wore on, and despite his strength and determination Joric was only human. The speed of his blows slowed and his shield arm began to shake with fatigue. The Deathlord had no such problems. Unbound by the limits of mortality it mercilessly attacked the man again and again.
One especially powerful blow from the draugr hit his shield at a bad angle, forcing Joric back a couple steps. It was the opening the Deathlord had been waiting for. Rather than press the assault it took a step back as well. “Fus…” There was no time to move. Joric braced himself. “RO DAH!”
Sword and shield were ripped from his arms as he was sent flying. He flew right through another pile of treasures and rolled to a stop. He lay stunned, struggling to get in a breath as the Deathlord approached. He rose to his knees and spied his weapons buried in mounds of gold. They were too far away.
It won’t be easy. Battleaxe raised high the Deathlord prepared for the finishing blow. The Nord smiled. But I’ll manage. Joric exploded upwards towards the draugr, as fast as a bolt loosed from a crossbow. Rocketing his fist into the draugr’s jaw, he felt bone crack and splinter. The Deathlord fought for balance as it took several steps back.
The Dragonborn stood tall. Squaring his shoulders he stalked forward with fists raised. Anything for my Lydia. Words came fumbling out of a ruined jaw. “Faaz! Paak! Dinok!” The Deathlord swung his axe with renewed vigor, fueled by his hatred for the fleshling. Unencumbered by his heavy weapons Joric moved with a fighter’s grace. Dodging each swing of the axe to land a blow immediately after.
He was slowly pushing the draugr back. Step by step his hail of punches forced its retreat. As each swing of the battleaxe slowed the ferocity of Joric’s attacks only grew. The hall amplified the sound of each blow, louder and louder until each rang like the boom of a thunderclap. Though his punches didn’t do much damage, the man pressed on trying to create an opening.
It wasn’t long before the Deathlord stumbled, that was when the Dragonborn took his chance. He grabbed the haft of the axe with one hand and spun into the draugr’s embrace. Before it could pry him loose he reached out with his other hand and crushed its decaying throat, bringing it close to his face.
The Deathlord wheezed. “Fus…” But it was the Dragonborn who Shouted. “YOL TOOR SHUL!” A roaring inferno erupted from Joric’s mouth. Consuming the head of the draugr he held. The entire room was bright with the color of blood as countless treasures reflected the light of dragon flame.
Then it was over. Joric released the melted horror that was now the Deathlord’s head. Its Dragonbone axe slipped from its fingers as it fell to its knees. Joric held on to the axe, testing its weight in both hands. He looked upon his foe as it gazed up at him. Hatred burning in its eyes.
“Daanik Ah Dov.” The axe was lighter than he expected, he easily raised it above his head. “Unslaad Krosi-” He could still see the hate in those eyes. Even as its head fell away.
Breathing heavily the Nord sat on a nearby pile of gold. Taking a moment to think as he caught his breath. What if I can’t find anything to make her happy? Even if I find the rarest gems or armor in the world, would it be enough? His shoulders slumped as he leaned forward, leaning on the axe as if it were a cane. For the first time that night, fear clawed at his heart.
What if she leaves me? The thought was painful. He shut his eyes, trying to force it from his mind. No matter how dire his circumstances, thinking of returning to her always gave him the strength he needed to come back alive.
He couldn’t imagine going home to an empty house. A home without her wasn’t home. Plain and simple. If she wouldn’t be there then there was no point going back at all.
Sitting alone in the dimly lit throne room his thoughts grew darker. For what felt like hours he let his emotions run wild. Fear, anxiety, sadness, and self-loathing festered, threatening to overflow. He dropped his head in anguish, his eyes opened and fell upon what he wore at his throat. An amulet of Mara. The very same one he had worn for his wedding.
What am I doing? The thought tore through his mind scattering his fears and regrets. Moping in the dark like some two-bit adventurer! Other emotions were crushed beneath newfound anger. I am Dovahkiin!
The battleaxe dropped to the ground as the Dragonborn stomped toward his shield, laying on the ground. He couldn’t let the love of his life slip away. Not now. Not ever. I don’t care what it takes.
Just as it returned to its proper place on his back as he moved towards his sword. Buried in a mound of gold. I’ll fight through all of Tamriel, Oblivion, and beyond. A familiar scrape marked the sheathing of the sword, as its owner made his way towards the exit behind the throne.
I don't know what I did. Without breaking stride he reached down and picked up the battleaxe, unconsciously finding its center of gravity. But I’ll get her the perfect apology present. The doors were ancient, probably unopened for hundreds of years. Or die trying.
One solid kick was all it took. Hinges ripped from their stone mounts as the door slammed onto the ground. Cold air washed over him as the Nord stepped over his handiwork. The sun was just beginning to set, shining through the valley as fog began to roll in. High up as he was the sight was breathtaking.
For a moment he felt as if he was in another place. High in the Reach he and Lydia had set up camp after fighting a horde of Forsworn. He remembered being angry at how much they had bled on his armor. For hours until sunset he had been cursing and swearing. Then Lydia had started swearing at him, because he was cursing so much.
Finally it had stopped when she had bashed his head with a large rock. While he was dazed she dragged him to the summit to watch the sun set saying “The best way to get rid of your anger is to let it die with the setting sun.” When he regained his senses he couldn’t bring himself to move away. She had been holding his hand the whole time.
His anger crumbled away as he appreciated the sight. With a clear head he chuckled. Knocking his helmet with an armored gauntlet. There I go again. Lydia always said that I’ve got to watch that temper.
He turned, taking a path that wound around crumbled walls and pillars. Frost nipped at his exposed skin as he stopped at the base of a long set of stairs. I’ll take plenty of time to find the right gift. Dragonplate boots easily found purchase on the worn steps as Joric made his way upwards. He could see a column of light ahead, shining bright against the darkening sky.
The steps ended on a plateau. Giving him a clear view of the portal to Sovngarde. He took several steps forward. Battleaxe held ready in both hands. But, first things first.
Two Elder Dragons, one on each side, flanked the portal. Unmoving, they watched as the man walked closer. A stone sarcophagus lay between the three. Surrounded by a dark aura, it reeked of death and decay.
Joric stopped moving forward. He’d seen this before. The aura spun and twisted. As if something within was writhing in pain. Or more likely the Nord thought. Something was striving to get out.
Taking a big step, he moved a little to the left.
The lid of the sarcophagus was blown off in a rush of power. Slamming into the exact spot Joric had just been standing. He stood unfazed, his attention was fixed on the thing coming out of the stone coffin. “A Dragon Priest.” He said with a sigh.
It rose from its grave. Lifting its staff it pointed it directly at Joric. Letting out an unearthly screech as it commanded the dragons to attack. Moving his legs into position. He took a stance, ready to attack or defend at a moment’s notice. “Why did it have to be a Dragon Priest?” he asked no one in particular.