The Elder Scrolls: Blades announces it is shutting down on June 30th. Until then, all items in the store are essentially free, so if you were even slightly curious this may be the easiest window to experience everything you can.
I feel like there's gotta be a compelling way to tie Mankar Camoran to Jagar Tharn. More than anything my brain cannot let go of that one Dagon cultist in Morrowind who avidly supported Tharn during his usurpation.
Hiiii @reagan-the-saunders I was your TES secret santa this year!! Drahireth's backstory and design had me so inspired to do a horror piece and gave me the opportunity to play with dithering. Hope you like it, and thanks as always to @scorchedcandy for hosting!!
I got @arimabari for this year's TES Secret Santa exchange! I LOVE their interpretation of Kyne (I'm always a sucker for slightly off-putting but chatty gods) and I had so much fun playing with her along with Hadvar. I hope you enjoy it!!
The woods at the edge of the sea should have been deafening between the ranging waves and the pounding rain. And yet, it was quiet as fresh-fallen snow. The crunch of Hadvar’s boots in the underbrush was the only sound to break the oppressive silence, along with the clunk of his armor. Imperials were so gaudy in their military wear. Uncle Alvor's armor never had the clean lines that Cyrodiilic blacksmiths managed, but they were plain and easy to move in. He should visit him…well, whenever he got out of this storm.
As he marched on through the silent rain, an odd gust of wind came from above, and another noise cut through the silence: the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of wings. But whatever bird this was must be much larger than any he’d seen, given the way each beat of its wings seemed to pound in his head like a drum. He picked up his pace, mud sticking and sucking at his heavy boots. The thumping grew louder—so strong it was creating a counter-beat to his rapid heart. And then, another noise blasted through the grove, making the trees around him shake and sending him to his knees from the force of it. His hair stood on end, rattled to his very bone. What was that? It wasn’t like anything he’d ever heard before.
Well, not quite.
There had been one time, when he had been a boy, that he and a friend had gone into the nearby barrows, where the village mothers had always warned should never be disturbed. Thinking themselves very brave and adept, they ignored the warnings and ventured down. Through the dusty remains of grave goods and ancient warriors, they laughed about how there was nothing scary about old bones.
But then some of those old bones creaked, and suddenly they weren’t laughing anymore.
The two boys had watched in terror as a draugr pulled itself up from its plinth, greataxe in hand and empty sockets suddenly filled with eerie blue light. Frozen as they were by fear, they could only watch as it opened its mouth to let out a shout that had sent them tumbling back into the stone wall behind them.
They had barely escaped with their lives that day, and Hadvar would never forget the chill of fear from that shout—and how similar it was to what he’d just heard.
He heaved himself up from his knees, mud doing its best to suck him in. He pushed up, stepped forward—only to stumble forward again, hands caught in the same traitorous mud that held him fast. The beating got louder, more purposeful; whatever was coming was getting closer and closer, and all Hadvar could do now was brace himself for Sovngarde as the air whipped around him from the thundering, deafening beat of wings…
…only to fade to silence as a small hawk alighted in front of him, immediately going to preen itself.
Hadvar stared, heart still pounding in his ears. His gasping breaths were the only other sound in the grove. He watched the bird in an equal mix of relief and disbelief, and startled as it lifted its head. A face—a man’s face, carved from clay—greeted him, smiling as if it knew a great secret.
“You frighten quite easily.” The mask’s mouth didn’t move, but the voice, clear, light, and very amused, came from it. The strange bird’s head tilted. “Not very befitting of a warrior, is it? But then, I imagine you’re more impressive in a better environment. Most mortals behave very poorly in dreams.”
Hadvar blinked. He tried to push himself up, but the mud still held fast.
“Ah, ah! Not yet, gentle Hadvar. I have need of you soon, and I fear you may run off before I can say my piece.” The bird hopped closer to him, ruffling its feathers as it regarded him. “Oh, yes, yes. You’ll do very nicely. I think you’ll be a very good match for her.”
“What?” Hadvar asked stupidly.
“Yes, you are brave—not now, of course, but that was by design. Good-humored, this is something she desperately needs. And…yes, I think beneath all the pomp and circumstance, you can even be soft-hearted. You’ll have to prove your resolve, of course, but so will she.”
“I…I’m not following,” Hadvar said as the strange bird drew back with a pleased flap of its wings. Did the clay smile widen?
“You don’t need to,” it said lightly. “Everything will come about exactly as its meant to. I had two options for my dear girl, but you, brave Hadvar, are my choice for what’s ahead.” It spread its wings in a movement that resembled a shrug. “Now, will the stubborn thing listen? That is what we both must find out.”
Hadvar pulled himself up to his knees, finally unsticking himself from the mud. “I…thank you? Uh, spirit?”
“More than that, but the gratitude’s appreciated.”
Hadvar nodded, then looked up to the sky. “What was that noise earlier? Did you hear it?”
“Why, of course. And I know its secret,” the bird said coyly, hiding its clay face behind a wing. “But that’s not your story. I’m feeling generous, though, so let’s give you a glimpse of what awaits you tomorrow.”
The trees shook, ground rattling beneath Hadvar’s knees. The fear from earlier trembled in his bones, and he once again tried to get up, but couldn’t move. The bird, on the other hand, sat quite serenely, masked face looking toward the giant something that approached. Another great rattling of the forest, and a shock of cold suddenly frosted the trees. Just beyond his line of sight, a shadowy mass paused, then lumbered forward.
Hadvar’s blood went cold as the trees were parted by massive claws, and a giant, reptilian head pushed itself into the grove. He knew what this was. It should be impossible. He should telling himself it wasn’t what he thought. But he knew he was facing a dragon.
“Kyne preserve me,” was all he could breathe out. The bird looked up at him, clay smile stretched very far indeed.
“Oh, I intend to.”
~
“Hadvar!”
The Nord jolted awake as he heard his name. The sun had already risen over the mountains, given the way it blinded him as his tent flap was held open.
“You lazy skeever. Think today was a holiday?” The captain’s trademark brash laugh rang through the tent without any humor. “You have five minutes. Execution today—and I hear we’ve got a real treat in store.”
“Yes, captain.”
As she let the tent flap fall closed, Hadvar signed and rolled his neck. Clearly all this Imperial versus Stormcloak nonsense was getting to him, with a dream like that. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask for a leave, even if it was just to visit Uncle Alvor. It’d do him some good.
As was expected, he was suited, booted, and on his horse in the next five minutes. They rendez-voused with the carts of prisoners coming from the border, all destined for the block. Hadvar swallowed down a grimace as the captain passed him the list of names. Poor bastards. He hated execution days.
As they rode down to Helgen, he glanced over the list, eyes widening as he saw the very first name. He looked back to the captain, who grinned.
“Told you we had a treat. War’ll be over by next week, I promise,” she said with a laugh as they entered the town.
Hadvar looked down at the list again, verifying it. Ulfric Stormcloak. That was…quite a shock. He wasn’t sure if he envied the soldier who brought him in or if he pitied the poor sod. With how the Stormcloaks were, they were probably carrion somewhere in Eastmarch by now.
He dismounted from his horse as they came to the town square, executioner and Priestess of Arkay already in their places. A crowd had started gathering, eager for justice or bloodshed—probably both. The captain was right with them; she was too professional to keep up her grin from earlier, but he could feel the way she buzzed with excitement as he held up the list.
“Step toward the block when we call your name! One at a time!” she barked to the prisoners as they hopped down from their carts. Hadvar braced himself.
“Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm,” he called.
There was a murmur of excitement as he read the name. Ulfric stood tall, thick fur cloak making him seem even larger than he was. He was gagged—no doubt to keep him from repeating what he’d done with High King Torygg. Hadvar had never seen him in person, and even in this position, his gaze was enough to send a shudder through him. He looked hard at the list to continue.
“Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorrikstead.”
“No, I’m not a rebel. You can’t do this!” The last fellow, Lokir, panicked and began to run, sprinting as fast as he could to the gates. There was always one.
“Halt!” the captain called.
“You’re not going to kill me!” he shouted back.
The captain sneered, and with one call of “Archers!”, Lokir went down with a bevy of arrows in his back. Poor bastard.
“Anyone else feel like running?” the captain asked with a cruel smile.
No one answered, and Hadvar pulled his eyes away from Lokir to look back to the waiting prisoner. Her hair, dark and wild as brambles, fell over her tattered priestess robes like a cloak. Her face looked Nordish, but the peek of pointed ears suggested elf-blood in her. Her eyes confirmed it; beneath thick, dark brows, they were the peculiar red color he’d only seen in Dark Elves. They blazed like embers in a hearth, ready to burst into an inferno that would consume all in its path. He looked back down at the list, frowned, then looked back up at her.
“Wait, you there,” he said, finding his voice. “Step forward.” She did so. “Who are you?”
“Tatia Stormcrown,” she said evenly, eyes never leaving his face. “I come from the Great Forest.”
Tatia Stormcrown. He looked at the list again; there was no Tatia Stormcrown listed. He looked back to the captain.
“Captain, what should we do?” he asked. “She’s not on the list.”
“Forget the list. She goes to the block.”
Hadvar nearly argued, but ultimately sighed. “By your orders, Captain.” He looked back to the prisoner—Tatia—with genuine regret. “I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil. Follow the Captain, prisoner.”
Head high, Tatia followed his order and stepped toward the block. Hadvar took a moment before following, letting his head fall back with a sigh. Above the square, a hawk circled overhead. He took a moment to watch it as General Tullius began listing Ulfric Stormcloak’s crimes.
Birds of prey weren’t odd in this part of Skyrim, especially not on execution days. But something about this was odd…it seemed to have a deformed face. Ah, no beak. But it didn’t seem to affect it as it circled lazily in the sky. He got a better look as it dipped down. The hawk didn’t seem to have a face at all; instead, he was greeted by a flat claw mask, a knowing smile carved into it. Before Hadvar could react, though, a loud sound tore through the air, chilling him to his bones. It was the very same one as his dream.
“What was that?” he called, quickly making his way toward the block.
“It’s nothing. Carry on,” the general said dismissively.
Hadvar didn’t think so. Was he dreaming again? The strange hawk circled overhead again, finally alighting on one of the nearby buildings to frame itself neatly over Tatia’s head.
I think you’ll be a very good match for her.
A Stormcloak’s head went rolling, sending the strange hawk flying away, and the Captain looked to Tatia.
“Next, the Nord in the rags.”
Another loud noise rattled through the air, loud enough to stop the jeering of the crowd.
“There it is again. Did you hear that?” It took all of his training to keep his voice even, because now he knew what that roar, that shout, belonged to. Even if all the evidence he had for it was from a dream. Even if he knew it was impossible. Because that impossible hawk knew its secret.
Perhaps that’s why Hadvar’s gaze was drawn to the prisoner condemned to die, against all logic. With her blazing eyes and fierce face, he saw the steadfastness of Kyne—as if she knew her head was staying right where it was.
“I said, next prisoner,” the captain said impatiently.
“To the block, prisoner,” he said, keeping his gaze on hers. “Nice and easy.”
There was a spark of something between them, as if they both knew that what was about to come would be far bigger than the both of them. She stepped up to the block slowly, before another officer forced her down, unceremoniously heaving her dark hair to the side to bare her neck to the axe. The executioner readied himself, raising his axe high just as another roar made the ground beneath their feet shake.
“What in Oblivion is that?” Tullius called, decorum abandoned.
But Hadvar knew the answer before it alighted on the tower. A dragon, enormous and dark as night, surveyed Helgen before a terrible shout tore through the square, sending prisoners, soldiers, and townsfolk flying through the air. The ones who withstood the first onslaught rushed from the scene, and the whole of Helgen fell into chaos.
Hadvar just barely stayed on his feet, and acting on instinct, threw himself in front of Tatia. He drew his sword, glancing back just long enough to see her stumble to her feet and run as quickly as she could with her hands bound. He looked back up at the dragon, ears ringing too loudly to hear the shouts and orders around him.
“Kyne preserve me,” he rasped out as the dragon once again opened its terrible mouth.
Don’t worry, said a small, amused voice in his head. I intend to.
THE WAY I WAS ENRAPTURED THE ENTIRE TIME. THIS FIC GENUINELY ALTERED MY BRAIN CHEMISTRY??? I'M GENUINELY SPEECHLESS???
You could not have written my Kyne more perfectly than this. The set up was so insanely perfect and SO satisfying by the end. You switched the part of my brain that's been lying dormant for months and now I'm ready to go sicko mode for these two, thank you so much for this genuinely I could not have asked for a better gift than this
rest in peace, Terence Stamp 😔 I don't think I'll ever understand Mankar as a villain but your performance has held a special place in my heart ever since I was a baby gamer playing elder scrolls for the very first time
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