Introduction
Jason
He just got assigned to a prisoner transport thinking everything would be easy. He hoped that wouldn't be the case. In fact, he asked to get deployed to Skyrim so he can help out in the war. The Stormcloaks were winning even though nobody liked to mention it. He lived for the rush of battle ever since he was a young boy. He always got into fights with the older boys, because he could never really keep his mouth shut. He usually lost those ones. When he did, he didn't really care. It earned him some respect and he always got a couple good hits in. But when he won...when he won against those older boys, nothing could knock him off his pedestal. He would feel amazing, even though he probably looked like shit considering the beating he sustained through the fight. But it was the best feeling in the world. That moment when he conquered something, no one can take that moment from him.
That's how his lifes been since the start. Growing up without a family makes you grow up fast. It taught him how to hide, how to steal, how to fight. He even had to kill once. He wasn't proud about it, in reality he never was, but it was either him or the other guy. It's a good thing they other guy didn't see the kitchen knife he stole from that old lady's house on the corner. Or else who knows what would've happened that night.
Growing up without a sense of purpose and everyone telling you you won't amount to anything really starts to beat you down. He knew that because he had no family, he most likely won't get a job. Plus, most of the people in his small little town knew him and didn't want a troublemaker working for them. He was an honest worker though, the one job he had before the Imperials showed up was good work. All he really did was clean up after people in a tavern. He barely got paid anything but drunk people were barely capable of finishing their food and would even sometimes give him some septims. He also saw a lot of weird people and heard many a strange tale from the drunkards, bards, and travelers that were just passing by. Tales of dragons, of trolls, giants that would raise mammoths like they were sheep, lizards the size of buildings, and even people that could fly. He never put much merit into any of them. So he couldn't really hate the job, it had it's perks.
But when the Imperials came in looking for recruits...saying that they would travel over Tamriel, and protect the people, he bought into it. Thinking maybe I can see if those stories held truth to them, and getting into a couple battles sounded just as fun as anything else. So he decided to enlist. Not the worst mistake of his life. They barely traveled anywhere, matter of fact he never left Cyrodil until he asked to got to Skyrim. You want to go to Skyrim? Want to fight a losing war? When they asked him that, it first time he heard that they were losing this war. Still, he nodded both times and even gave a little smug smile when the approved his request. Although it was wiped off his face once their disappointment was clearly expressed on their faces. It didn't matter though, he was going to travel somewhere else and fight in a war. Very honourable if you asked him. He couldn't be more wrong.
So that's how he ended up here in Skyrim. A boy who wanted to play at war. Since he's been here, he's seen and done a few dishonorable acts. Stabbing a Stormcloak in the back. Watching a village get slaughtered. Almost watching a village girl get raped. She couldn't have been more then sixteen. Even though his officer said she really wanted it, but was just playing hard to get. He knew she wasn't. But man was his officer mad when he stopped him. So mad in fact that he tried to killed her. But he wasn't able to. Because I ran him through with my sword. Only to find her later, beaten and raped by a few other soldiers. That's the first time he truly hated people. He was just so angry. So that's why he pretended he didn't know what happened to the when the officer found them all dead in a ditch later that night. Got what they deserved.
The next thing they came across was a prisoner transport that just captured a few Stormcloaks and the great Ulfric Stormcloak himself. They came across the transport and his commanding officer told him to join the transport on their way to Helgen. So, he saddled up and joined them. Wanting to see who was in the carriage, he trotted his horse up to it. He saw two guys and one girl dressed in full Stormcloak armor, another guy dressed in green robes that looked way too fancy for a prisoner, and three more guys and two more girls, all dressed in rags that barely looked intact. But none of them held as much attention as the man in the back. Ulfric Stormcloak by all means was a dangerous man. The story going around is that he killed the High King Torygg by tearing him apart with his words. It must of held some truth to them since they had him gagged up and fully restrained. How they managed to capture him, he would never know.
The trip to Helgen was a boring one. Nothing interesting besides the usual prisoner struggle. When they got to Helgen, he saw General Tullius talking to some tall guy in a black cloak lined with gold trimming and goldish, blonde hair that ran about shoulder length.
It took him a second to recognize that, dressed in the robes, was an Altmer and actually, in fact, a female. When the transport passed by, it was easier to see that her features were clearly feminine. It was also easier to recognize that she was a Thalmor. He would see them during his patrols while he was still in Cyrodil. He then recognized all the other High Elves that stood guard by her. Guess it's someone important. Curious as he was, he stayed with the transport til they came into a courtyard where they stopped the carriage by a few other ones and had all the prisoners file out. He saw a Redguard, a few Imperials, several Nords, and even an Argonian. He's a long way from the Black Marshes... Officers started to call out names and bring prisoners forward. He glanced to the side to see General Tullius riding up to the block in the middle of the courtyard. His hair was grey, face was stern, and armor was a bright gold, with the Imperial Legion sigil imprinted on the front.
General Tullius was well known. Sent to Skyrim by Emperor Titus Mede II to stop the Stormcloak uprising. His eyes scanning the prisoners while he dismounted his horse and stood facing them, eyes staring at one in particular.
"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne. You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace. Legate Talia, read the names."
A middle aged woman, wearing full officer gear without her helmet, stepped forward. Her brown hair ran to just about her jawline. Her green eyes cold and calculating, stared at just about every prisoner before her. Then, she looked at a piece of parchment paper.
"Andalise Briser"
A prisoner stepped forward from the group. Her red her cut close to her head, shaved almost. She was a Nord woman, tall and strong looking in her Stormcloak armor. Not an ounce of fear showed on her face. She walked straight towards the block, got on her knees with her head hanging off of the other side. She didn't say anything and didn't move as the executioner walked to the block, pulled his axe up, and separated head from body in one swing. Two legionnaires walked to her body and picked it up, throwing on the floor to the side of the block. One of them then proceeded to kick her head into the body, while a smirk played across his face.
I hate him already, Jason thought.
"Brewyck Movor"
Another Stormcloak soldier stepped out of the line. He was also a Nord. With blonde hair that fell to about his shoulder blades. He was the tallest of the prisoners, standing at seven foot, six inches. And he was built with muscle. It was almost like a Giant was walking to the block. Only thing he's missing is a club and a herd of mammoths. He had to kneel farther away from the block so he could slouch and lay across it, his thick neck resting over the other side of the block. Just like the woman, he didn't flinch when the executioner came to take his head. Only this time, when the axe came down, it only got about two thirds through his neck. He started coughing and spluttering blood along the floor as the executioner pulled the axe free and brought it down again. This time, the head rolled off and next to the woman's dead body.
The same two legionnaires came to move the body, but found themselves struggling to do so. Legate Talia then ordered a third to help. As soon as the third legionnaire got there, one of the other prisoners, an Imperial, dressed in rags with his hair completely shaved off, broke away from the group and ran.
"Archers", the Legate shouted.
Two archers, standing upon the castle walls, nocked arrows and pulled their bowstring back before aiming at the escaping prisoner.
"Loose"
Simultaneously, the arrows were flying and found purchase in their target. One in the left shoulder blade, the other in the back of the head. Then, Legate Talia turned her eyes back towards the group of prisoners.
"Anyone else?"
No one said anything or moved. But by this time, the legionnaires were able to move the Nords hulking body out of the way and pile onto the other body. Then, the original two went to recover the body of the dead run away. Legate Talia then looked back down at her list.
"Merrick Fath"
No one stepped forward. The Legate eyes hardened and she took a step towards the prisoners.
"So, somebody doesn't want to lay claim to their name now, huh?"
One of the prisoners, another Imperial said, "You already killed him." Then he proceeded to tilt his head to the direction of the dead body being dragged to the pile.
"How do you know that was him?"
He looked back at her and spoke, his voice oddly calm. "He was my brother, Legate."
She looked back at her list, eyes scanning the paper, then her gaze fell back on him.
"Derrick Fath?"
He answered with a quick nod.
"I heard about you two", the Legate said, "two brothers that thought they were too good for the Legion. So they deserted and sold information to the Stormcloaks." She took a few steps towards him so they were now just inches apart. "Now tell me...how's that working out for you?"
Derrick just stared at her. After a few moments of silence, "Best decision I've ever had."
"Well, we don't give turncloaks an honorable death." She then turned to a passing group of legionnaires. "You three, take this traitor to the dungeons. Have the torturer do whatever he deems fit to."
The group came towards the prisoner, the first legionnaire punch him in the gut. Causing him to fall to the floor and curl into himself. The second grabbed him by his hair and pulled him to his knees, then proceeded to grab one arm while the third grabbed the other. Then they dragged him across the floor into one of the castle towers that would lead them down into the castle and eventually to the dungeon.
Jason felt sick just watching it. These fucking bastards are cruel as hell.
His his disgust must have been evident on his face, because then the Legate turned her attention towards him.
"Something wrong soldier?"
Instead of answering, he just continued to stare at her. It must of aggravated her more because she started to take steps toward him. Looking and sounding like she was stomping her feet the whole way.
"I asked you a question soldier."
"Yes ma'am, I believe you did", was his reply. Her face grew almost as red as a tomato. Her steps grew quicker her fists tightened into balls at her sides and her jaw clenched. The list of names fully forgotten and now on the floor. Guess that was the wrong answer.
"I believe I did too soldier, and next time I ask you a question, you answer it! And the next time you decide to tell me what you believe in, I'll have you drawn and quartered! Do you understand me!"
"Yes ma'am", he was able to get out through his clenched teeth.
"Right now, I want you to-", she was cut off by a loud roar from somewhere in the mountains around them. Everyone must have heard it because everybody was looking towards the mountains.
"What was that?", one of the prisoners asked.
It was the Argonian prisoner who voiced this question. His clothing could only be classified as rags. Only covering half of his torso, and from his hips to his knees. They were covered in mud and so was his entire left arm. His green skin was so dark it looked like mud had covered his entire body. His face a shade lighter then the rest of himself. Where his yellow, snake-like eyes stared off into the distance over one of the many mountains around Helgen.
"It doesn't matter what it was, Legate Talia, get one with the executions." General Tullius was now standing in the middle of the courtyard by the chopping block. The Legate then gave Jason one last threatening stare, then walked back to the block, picking up her list on the way. She looked at the next name, then broke into a smile and looked at the group of prisoners.
"Ulfric Stormcloak"
This causes General Tullius to move his attention to the man mentioned. It also caused the remaining four Stormcloaks to step forward as to shield their leader. The Legate and the two legionnaires next to her all drew their swords. Jason could also hear a bowstring being pulled back from on top of the castle wall behind him.
The Legate smiled, and then said "I will happily come get you myself."
But before a fight could break out, Ulfric stepped forward himself, pushing his soldiers behind him and shaking his head. He stepped towards the block and, yet again, another roar sounded through the sky. Like thunder rippling through the clouds. Soldiers started to look as uneasy as the prisoners were. Swords were drawn, arrows nocked, and shouting could be heard from the other side of the castle.
"General! General!"
They all turned to see a soldier running across the courtyard towards them. Fear etched across his entire face, and his hand that was wrapped around his sword was trembling.
General Tullius and the Legate ran to meet him half way, while Jason looked behind him to she what he was running from. They sky started to darken and the wind picked up. Imperial Legion banners flapping roughly in the wind, some torn off the castle completely.
"What soldier? Spit it out!", Tullius yelled.
The soldier, still running towards them, cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled.
"Dragon!"
Then there was a dark shadow crossing over the sky, large enough to take up the entire courtyard. Then there was a bright light coming towards them. Fire. It cut through the middle of the courtyard. In order to avoid getting caught in the spray, Jason rolled to his right, towards a tower that stood tall against the castle walls.
Then there was screams. And all he could do was run.