The Elder Scrolls

Short Story of TLB

Content of the article: "Short Story of TLB"

Hello, I wrote a short story about a fight with The Last Dragonborn. I was trying to imagine what his power would be like lore wise if you had all the relics and stuff and realised that he'd be pretty scary to fight at his peak. Im not really a writer but thought Id give this a shot. Hope you enjoy!

“The strongest of our force will be encamped South-West of Lake Yorgrim, awaiting orders for the march on Windhelm.”

The Stormcloak commander couldn’t believe his eyes. “Regnar, you did good. Take the whimpering traitor somewhere he can be dealt with.” Folding up the note and hopping on his horse, he thought to himself how this could finally be the turning point. They had been losing ground, every battle they fought rendered unwinnable by the damned dragonborn. Hero or not, it was hard to respect someone who fought so valiantly for the Empire.

Still anxious, but nonetheless alive, the imperial courier returned to Legate Rikke with

the news that the Stormcloaks had received the plant. “Think it’ll work?” she asked the General. “We’ll see. They aren’t the most clever enemies I’ve met.”

“Yes, sir. They’re definitely there. I saw at least five hundred fires, possibly more. I had a good vantage of the area. We must move swiftly!”

“Very well. Ready our forces. If we can crush this fast enough, we might yet stand a chance.” Ulfric was tense. He’d seen the capabilities of the dragonborn first hand at Helgen, and that was before he had slain the world eater. And the arch vampire. And the first dragonborn. Hopefully he’d be encamped with those forces, and could be taken out quickly before having a chance to retaliate. He had basically single handedly driven the Stormcloaks to the brink of defeat, having only a few strongholds left outside of Windhelm. He’d been anticipating a large attack on Windhelm for a little while, but did not anticipate it to happen so soon. Oh well, this counter ambush should be the break he needed.

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The massive figure looked imposing clad in his ebony armor, almost made comically more impressive by his armor clad steed that was two thirds larger than a normal horse. The Stormcloak commander, known as “The Unbreakable” and “Four Score” for holding off eighty imperial soldiers on his own, was a living legend amongst both the Stormcloaks and the Imperials. He gave the signal, and the Stormcloak forces charged down the hillside into the fires. Only, something wasn’t right. There weren’t any fires, and by the time they realised the deception, it was too late.

An all encompassing crack thundered through the air, and those at the epicenter were instantly vaporized by the tonal forces wrending them apart. Those a thousand feet away were knocked down and deafened, and even further away still the Stormcloaks were staggered and stumbling.

“Dragonborn! Retreat!”

But it was too late.

Ralof remembered that sound from Helgen. The roar of a dragon.

Odahviing swept out of the darkness of the sky, illuminating a wide area with the glow of his thu’um. “Nust bovul ont, Dovahkiin. The day is already won.” His thu’um decimated the helpless forces, hopelessly pouring arrows into the night sky. But even if they could hit their mark, a dragon’s hide had high hopes against such lowly attacks.

Another crack filled the air. Another hundred men disappeared in an instant. Four Score saw where the shouts were coming from, and redirected his steed in that direction. He was the strongest soldier at the Stormcloaks disposal, and he would have the Dragonborns head.

A third crack threw him from his horse. Rolling and getting to his feet, he turned to face his adversary. He’d never felt nervous before, and definitely never small. Standing two heads above the average Nord, he was used to being the mammoth on the battlefield. However, this masked figure, though the height of an average man, had an imposing presence. An aura of darkness seemed to permeate the air around him, emanating from his armor. In his right hand he held a sword that seemed as if it was on fire, and his left hand was brimming with magical energies. On his hip hung a book that appeared to have a cover of sewn flesh, and on his finger he saw a ring that made him feel sick to his stomach for reasons he didn’t understand. His mask was simultaneously mesmerizing and dread inducing, radiating pure power that Four Score had never encountered, even when battling High Mages of the Empire.

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Magical flames encompassed The Unbreakable’s body. It hurt, but he silently thanked the enchanters for blessing his armor, and charged forward, ebony blade ready to come down on the dragonborns head. He was deceptively fast for a man of his size.

“Tiid Klo Ul”

His ears were ringing, and the Dragonborn had disappeared from his sight. He felt the burning, and saw the blade that was coming out of his chest. He didn’t have time to wonder what had happened before he awoke in Sovngarde.

The rest of the Stormcloak soldiers had been busy with either Odahviing or Durnehviir, but hadn’t made any progress. one dragon was too much for them to handle unprepared, let alone two. Every Stormcloak soldier whose body was intact enough got back up shortly after being killed, and turned on their former allies. Only there was no life in their eyes. Deadra poured out of the hills, ready to serve the master battlemage who had dominated them just like he had the dragons. Any soldiers that got close to the Dragonborn succumbed to the Boethic plate, then rose and turned around to fight their brethren. The Stormcloaks had never stood a chance.

Ulfric refused to surrender, even though he had no forces left. He was slain by the Dragonborns hand, using the General’s sword. There was celebration, but the Dragonborn did not partake wholeheartedly. He had other things on his mind.

There were elves to the south, and there was a new vacancy on the Imperial throne. It would seem this was only the beginning.

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