Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Skyrim Journal #3

It was certainly not the same dragon that inadvertently saved my head. Not only did it not look the same, but thanks to the 'new blood' I have in my veins, I could smell it before I saw it and knew it was a distinct beast. Familiarity did nothing to temper my fear. Seeing an animal that large flying with such fine control, then belching fire down on screams nords is more than enough to warrant fleeing for ones life.

I didn't, though, and not because I had any feelings of obligation toward the brutish guards that fought by my side or the jarl who had petitioned me to go along. I had to know if it could be killed. I had to know if it bled, if it hurt, and how much hurting in could take. The battle began with around twenty men, each and every one fighting for his life. The dragon circled the remains of a guard tower, snatching up straggling guards with its claws and flinging them into the surrounding fields. Those were the lucky ones, as being burnt to a crisp was much more unpleasant, judging from the screams.

The rocks torn from the tower provided adequate over and fired arrow after arrow at the dragon. Fewer than half found their make, and even less punctured his skin. One lucky shot lodged right below his eye and I saw him wince in pain. It was a momentary victory; it had given away my position. The dragon landed and circled around me, trying to get a clear shot on the one who had actually injured in. From above a mage began to rain down spelling. They had about the same effect as my arrows, but distracted the dragon enough for me to find a new place to hide. 

It took well over fifteen minutes and several scores of arrows, but the dragon fell. Of the twenty men only six were left, and two of those may never wield a sword again. Once the dragon stopped moving I approached, curious and greedy, looking for spoils that it might have ingested. At my first touch the dragon burst into flames, the smoke swirling around me. It was the same sound I encountered two days earlier coming from the wall I could not read. The images returned, and this time I could understand. This was not just a word, it was power, and for some reason, it was mine.

After the last fires died down the soldiers slowly approached. 'Dragon born,' one said, 'you should try a shout.'

Shout? That was what he called it. Though I still did not understand the power, it was more than a shout. I turned to the wreckage of the guard tower and said the new word. Nothing happened. Disappointed and angry, I yelled it as loud as I could. There was a tremendous gust of wind, pushing everything in front of me back and dousing much of the remaining fire.

Even the guard captain took a step back. This would prove useful indeed.

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