The Story of Dovahkiin

[Tickles Da Clown]

Every morning, invariably, Fradaal awoke to the crow of the rooster in the coop. She then, as always, changed into the plain clothes that she wore around her farm. Fradaal was a not an exceptional girl, her being just a dark skinned little child. Fradaal was a short girl with nothing out of the ordinary about her about her, save for the deep brown, empty eyes that spoke of the suffering she had endured recently, when the one man she had loved in her life, her father, had died a month ago, and the lightly defined muscles that spoke of years of physical exertion on the farm. ​

Fradaal, as always, awoke to the crowing of the rooster in the coop at the crack of dawn. She then peeled the woolen blanket that she was sleeping under off of her. Fradaal walked to the wardrobe that was next to the door to her bedroom and opened the bottom drawer. She then proceeded to change into the blue cotton shirt that she had spun herself and a pair of white pants she had made the last time she had sheared the sheep.
After dressing, Fradaal went to the chicken coop to check if the hens had laid any eggs during the night. She crept inside and slid her slender hand underneath the bottom of the hen nearest the door. She felt a single egg underneath it. It was this hen’s turn to have her egg taken, so Fradaal took it, intending to cook the egg for breakfast.
Fradaal snaked her miniscule hand underneath two of the other hens and swiped their eggs from them for her brothers before leaving the coop. As she returned to the farmhouse, Fradaal walked by the farmhouse, which brought tears to her eyes remembering helping her father build it. The farmhouse brought much the same reaction for much the same reasons, though she fully burst into tears at that point.
Fradaal’s father had died of some unknown illness that did not show any of the symptoms that the other members of his family knew of, though if they had known, they would have been horrified. Her father had suffered from an extremely high fever, diarrhea, and an excessive amount of sweating.
Fradaal returned to the farmhouse and forced herself to stop sobbing. She pulled a cooking pan out of the cupboard above the wood stove that her family owned. Fradaal put a faggot of wood into the bottom of the stove and went to grab the tinder in the same cabinet. After she had pulled out the tinder, Fradaal lit the fire underneath the stove.

When she turned around, Fradaal saw her brother, Jophiel, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, with a blanket wrapped around his slim eight year old figure.. He was sweating badly, just like he always did when he woke up.
“Good morning, Joph. Are you alright? You aren’t usually this sweaty when you wake up.” Fradaal said truthfully.
“Have you been crying, Fradaal?” Jophiel asked, his voice noticeably shaky “You know that I hate seeing you sad.”
Fradaal raised her eyes in surprise. She did not think that it was that obvious that she had been crying. If her oldest brother, Nathaniel, would beat her to make her more tough.
“Make sure to hide your tears Fradaal, or else Nathaniel will beat you “to make you tougher”,”
They both heard a deep voice then behind them then said “That’s right Jophiel, and don’t quail this time or the beating will be worse,” the voice said, both Jophiel and Fradaal knowing who it was. Fradaal then caught a large hand to her ear, knocking her to the ground. As soon as she hit the ground, she received two vicious kicks to her ribs, which made her curl up into a ball.
“You're not a hedgehog, so don’t curl up,” Nathaniel said, emphasizing the word up with a kick and a grunt. Fradaal whimpered, which only brought her another kick.
“Stop kicking her. I’m only giving you one warning.” Jophiel growled. Nathaniel laughed, and Jophiel growled louder. Nathaniel suddenly stopped kicking and turned around. Fradaal used this distraction to take out her knife and draw it across Nathaniel’s back, which arched in pain as he hissed “You little s***!”, and as he fell down, Fradaal saw Jophiel standing across the room from her, only it wasn’t Jophiel anymore. Jophiel wasn’t covered in fur, Jophiel wasn’t five and a half feet tall, Jophiel didn’t have teeth an inch long, Jophiel didn’t have rippling muscles, Jophiel didn’t howl, and Jophiel didn’t have a snout.
“Joph?” Fradaal whispered to the werewolf. Jophiel didn't respond, being too focused on his prey. Jophiel pounced upon Nathaniel, who screamed loudly as his chest was rent open when Jophiel raked his claws across it. Nathaniel screamed until his throat was torn out by a vicious bite from Jophiel, at which point he bled out, never to administer another beating.
Jophiel then turned his bloody jaws toward Fradaal, and in his blood lust, pounced upon her. He bit her right shoulder before she plunged her knife that was still in her left hand into Jophiel’s shoulder. This seemed to jar Jophiel back to reality, because then he released his jaws and rolled away off of her.
Jophiel seemed truly regretful for what he had done to Fradaal. Fradaal then began the painful transformation back to his human form while Fradaal lay clutching her painful and still bleeding shoulder. Disgusted that he still had human blood on his lips, Jophiel wiped his face with his tattered clothes that he was wearing before casting them to the ground.
Fradaal yanked the rags off of the ground immediately and wrapped up her shoulder. Jophiel tenderly removed the knife from his shoulder that he only just noticed was still there, and grabbed some of the rags and bound his own wound. Jophiel began a muttering chorus of I'm sorry's and please forgive me's and the such.
Fradaal scooped her knife off of the ground and meandered toward Jophiel, her loss of blood making her weak. She then walked upstairs to her dead father's room, where she and her family kept the healing potions that they gave to her father in a futile attempt to keep him alive. She quickly unstoppered one and drank it in a few gulps.
Fradaal's wound immediately began closing, and the pain was alleviated slightly. Fradaal grabbed another bottle for Jophiel and stumbled downstairs, already feeling weak from her loss of blood.
Once Jophiel had drunk the bottle of potion, he thanked Fradaal and they both left the house to leave Nathaniel and their bad memories behind.
Fradaal grabbed her hunting bow off of the wall and set off in search of a new life, since if the authorities of Hammerfell found her brother's dead body with a cut across his back from her knife, she would go to prison and perhaps even the chopping block.
And thus Fradaal set out to carve a new life in a different town with her brother, looking to use her average skills as a huntress to put meat on the table for her and her brother. Fradaal and Jophiel brought nothing save for the bow, some meager cooking equipment, the potions, and ten septims.
Fradaal and Jophiel soon found a village to stay in, though the villagers thought it strange to see two children providing for themselves. They found it yet more strange that they both had old bandages over their shoulders.
Fradaal and Jophiel stayed there until the Great War ended ten years later. When Hammerfell began it's own war against the Aldmeri, both Jophiel and Fradaal joined the army of nationalists. Jophiel soon began to rise through the ranks with a reputation for both being a fierce fighter and a man that came up with clever tactics. Fradaal always conveniently stayed within Jophiel's contingent after he became a minor commander.
Near the end of the war, however, both Fradaal and Jophiel were captured and taken to the Summerset Isle for interrogation. They were held until, a few years after the war ended, they both escaped with some other war criminals. They then attacked high elves wherever they saw them until they eventually stole a boat and made for the Stros M'kai. From there, they fled to Cyrodiil when their way into Hammerfell was cut off by the Aldmeri.
The former prisoners each went their separate ways then. Fradaal and Jophiel stayed in Cyrodiil for years until Ulfric Stormcloak kill King Torygg and began his revolution against the Empire in earnest. Fradaal and Jophiel went to Skyrim after hearing of their rebellion, which they wished to join. Near the border, Imperial soldiers asked for a toll for crossing the border. Neither of them had any money, so the soldiers asked for Fradaal instead. Jophiel would not stand for this, no matter him being outnumbered twenty to one, so he took on the form of the wolf and attacked the Imperials.
The soldiers were caught by surprise and several of them died before the others came to their senses. Jophiel was surrounded and killed when he received a crippling cut to his hamstrings and a sword to his chest.
At that point, Fradaal could take it no longer. She had already cut her bonds on a fallen Imperial's sword and killed her unwary guard when the others had killed Jophiel. The soldiers came at her, and she fought valiantly before one soldier smacked her in the head with the hilt of his sword and Fradaal could see nothing but black.

End Introduction, Fradaal's Journeys Before the Skyrim Civil War​

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Chapter one: Dragons and Stormcloaks​

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Fradaal awoke with bleary eyes and creaky joints. The first thing she noticed before her eyes cleared was that she was wearing lightweight, scratchy clothes as opposed to the Hammerfell garb that she was used to wearing. She also noticed that she could not move her hands as she was used to before she noticed that her hands were bound with some rope.
When here eyes cleared up, Fradaal noticed the man in front of her wearing the curiass of the Stormcloak army. He was well built with dirty, long blonde hair that had braids hanging down the side of his face.
Fradaal then noticed the Imperial driving the carriage that she was riding in, and her hearing returned. The first thing that she heard was the man across from her, he saying "You were trying to cross the border right?" Fradaal glared at him.
"You probably walked right into an Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." The man finished with a nod towards the man sitting to his left.
"You and me, we shouldn't be here!" the thief said. "It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," the man said.
The Imperial driving their cart shouted at them, not even respecting them with a glance.
"What's his problem?" the thief said to the man wearing a fur coat and mouth binding sitting to Fradaal's right, whom she had not even noticed before.
"Watch your tongue!" the man across from Fradaal said. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim."
Fradaal's eyes opened wide at this information. It seemed that she had found the Stormcloaks, but not in the situation that she would have liked.