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Fallen priestess Sigrun is intimately familiar with hate. It has carried her, shaped her, and forged her into a woman stronger than she ever thought possible. At the behest of her dying mother, Sigrun returns to Skyrim, prepared to confront whatever destiny lies in store for her. Along the way she gets caught up in a rebellion and comes to the startling realization that hate alone may no longer be enough.
This is my first attempt at writing any sort of fiction. I'm fairly proud of my writing skills when it comes to essays or papers, but fiction it, seems, is a whole other kind of beast. I would like to improve, so criticism is welcome. All I ask is that your criticism be helpful. Think the story sucks? Fair enough. Please be so kind as to explain in a line or two why so I might improve my skills. Thanks.
As a side note, I'm not familiar with the formatting here. Apologies for any blatant errors.

Chapter One - To Return Home

Skyrim's cold was breathtaking, but not unexpected. The wind, however, was far worse. It bit and tore at her clothes like a living thing, stinging every bit of exposed skin like tiny knives. Each gust seemed to sweep right through her, making her very bones ache. For what had to be the dozenth time since setting out on this fool's journey, Sigrun cursed her hasty departure from Cyrodil. Though she'd always intended to return to the snow covered peaks of her homeland, she'd never imagined that she'd be doing so as a fugitive.

Damn you, Avitus, she seethed, fury uncoiling in the pit of her stomach. Death was too good for the likes of you!

The man was no more than a memory now- she'd made sure of that- and yet the mere thought of his name was enough to invoke a hatred so savage it left her shaken in her more lucid moments. For now, Sigrun merely rode the wave, allowed it to bolster her flagging strength and suffuse exhausted limbs with the deceptive warmth of adrenaline. That hatred had driven her to Skyrim, given her the will to survive the many trials fate seemingly flung her way and she clung to it with all the desperation of a man drowning.

The faint snap of a twig brought Sigrun out of her thoughts with a start and she froze, listening intently. The road had been fairly safe so far, barring the occasional wolf either hungry or foolish enough to leave the cover of the pine forest. Still, it was a mistake to let her attention wonder from her surroundings like that. For all she knew, she was still being pursued. Carelessness now would cost her her life or her freedom and the young Nord woman was loathe to give up either, not when she was so close to the promise of both.

The wind stirred once more, whipping tangled ebon locks into her face and making her amber eyes water. With an impatient flick of her hand, Sigrun batted the offending tendrils away. She waited a moment more, scanning the area for any sign of disturbance and released a tense breath. Deeming it safe to continue she resumed her course down the road. A sudden surprised cry rang out, shattering the silence. Within moments, more cries followed, and the metallic clash of steel against steel sounded from further up the path.

“Bandits,” Sigrun muttered softly, lips curving into a small smile as her mind briefly skipped back to the warnings from a well meaning traveler she'd passed a few days ago. “Well, that changes things a bit.”

Eyes narrowed in thought, the woman chewed her bottom lip as she debated the best course of action. On the one hand, she could simply walk around. Whatever skirmish was taking place ahead didn't concern her and their was no reason it ought to. She should consider herself fortunate that bandits were harrying someone else and not her. On the other hand, if she were to render aid to the victim of the attack, she might be able to gain for herself some sorely needed supplies without parting with any of her meager stash of coin. A quick shrug of her shoulders to reposition the diminished weight of her pack made up her mind for her. Sigrun drew her dagger from its sheath at her hip and crept forward as quietly as she could.

A flash of red, stark against the bleak landscape, slowed her steps and with a muffled curse, Sigrun flung herself behind the cover of a nearby tree.

Not bandits at all, she realized, as her heart quickened its pace. Imperial soldiers. But what are they doing all the way out here?

Silently, Sigrun cursed her stupidity. She'd heard rumors of unrest in Skyrim, mutterings of civil war, and she'd dismissed them as irrelevant; nothing to concern herself with for the time being. All she'd cared about was getting there; she'd sort the rest out later. Her lack of foresight was fast catching up to her, it seemed. The woman stifled a bitter laugh with the back of her hand. This was the kind of impulsiveness her mother had always warned her about. In her haste to flee her troubles in Cyrodil, she'd run headlong into a new problem. And this, she feared, would not be so easy to outrun.

The young woman took a steadying breath and risked another glance from behind her tree. The Imperials had another group of men and women surrounded. All were dressed in a simple uniform of leather armor and a blue tabard, save for one man. More than his clothing set that man apart, the Nord woman noticed. He was a large man, quite a bit taller than his companions. He carried himself with a calm assurance Sigrun envied in that moment. He had to know he'd lost. There were simply too many Imperials to escape. He held up a hand and said something to the others that did not carry to her hiding spot. Whatever it was, the soldiers in blue were not pleased to hear it, their expressions ranging from tightly controlled anger to shocked dismay. The leader spoke again, more insistent this time, and slowly lowered his weapon to the ground. Another man to his left gave a curt nod and did the same and the rest quickly followed suit.

Sigrun gave a quick shake of her head and took a step back. Though their courage was admirable, she could do nothing for them and she'd dallied behind that tree long enough. Getting caught now wasn't going to help anyone. Quietly she turned, prepared to slip back the way she came.

“You there!” a man called out sharply. “Halt, rebel!”

Dread swept over the young Nord with nauseating force. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she'd delayed her retreat too long. Without another thought, Sigrun fled as fast as her legs could carry her, each pounding beat of her heart driving her to push herself that much harder, demand even more from a body nearly taxed to its limit. Angry shouts went up behind her and she could hear the heavy footfall of her pursuers. Her chest ached as she took in ragged, gasping breaths of the frigid air, but still she ran. A heavily muscled man in an Imperial uniform lunged at her and Sigrun narrowly avoided his grasp, twisting her body just out of his reach. Unfortunately, her successful evasion threw her slightly off balance and the young woman staggered a step or two in an attempt to regain her footing on the treacherous terrain.

Quick as her recovery was, the stumble still cost her, and Sigrun's lead was fast disappearing. She could hear the panted curses of the soldier closest to her, could hear the staccato of his footsteps draw closer and closer. She wondered briefly if the time had come to turn and fight. To do so was suicide, certainly, but perhaps an honorable death was preferable to capture.

Fate, it seemed, was not about to let her decide the answer to that question for herself. A sudden hard weight slammed into Sigrun, knocking her feet from under her and the air from her lungs. Dazed and disoriented, the simple act of drawing each breath took all of the young Nord's concentration for the next several moments.

Sigrun was dimly aware of cruel fingers digging into her arm as she was roughly flipped to her back. She made a feeble attempt to buck the soldier's heavy weight off her, to no avail. She was effectively pinned, and the man knew it, if his gloating expression was anything to judge by.

“It's over, Stormcloak dog,” he sneered, his face pressed so close to hers Sigrun could feel his hot breath. “This rebellion is as good as finished.”

“Do I look like one of them?” Sigrun demanded, annoyed with the Imperial's smug attitude. She had crimes enough of her own to answer to. She'd be damned if she let this fool fabricate additional offenses. “Take a good look,” she continued, gesturing with her chin to her plain homespun and furs. “Do you see any similarities?”

The legionnaire shrugged in disinterest, hardly sparing her a glance. “Tell it to the captain, if you get the chance. Finding you out here with them won't do you any favors, though,” he warned. “Best get comfortable,” he added, binding her hands tightly with coarse rope. “I don't think you're going anywhere for a while.”

The young Nord ground her teeth so hard her jaw ached as she was hauled to her feet an divested of her backpack. In her present circumstance, there was little she could do. Sigrun took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm her rage as she silently took stock of her situation. Her dagger was missing, presumably lost in the chase. Though she towered over the Imperial by several inches, he had the advantage in strength. Bound and unarmed, further resistance was not a viable option. Even if she hadn't been operating on little food and less sleep for gods knew how many days, she was still hopelessly outnumbered, in a land she hadn't set foot in in nearly fourteen years. As of yet, she saw no clear way out of her predicament. That did not mean she would not find one in the future.

The point of a sword nudged the small of her back, and her captor grabbed her shoulder in an attempt to push her forward. “Move.” he ordered gruffly.

Sigrun shrugged his hand off angrily, but obeyed. “Don't touch me!” she hissed, eyes narrowed in impotent fury. It was one thing to be marched at the tip of a sword but she did not suffer touch casually. Perhaps it was foolish to protest, bound and surrounded by the enemy, but some things were beyond her tolerance.

The Imperial smirked at her, one dark brow lifted in challenge. Thankfully, he left it at that and made a show of removing his hand, dark eyes mocking. Two more legionnaires joined the first, effectively flanking her and the sword prodded her forward again, sharper this time. Sigrun kept her face carefully neutral and held herself with as much dignity as she could muster as she was led back to the main party.

To her surprise, the Imperials did not immediately set off for whatever destination awaited their prisoners. They appeared to be waiting for something, the legionnaires practically vibrating with nervous tension. One man in particular was going from captive to captive, collecting their name and any relevant information. This he added to a sheet of parchment. Sigrun quickly lost interest in watching the man make his rounds and focused her attention on eavesdropping on what bits of conversation she could hear. From what she was able to piece together, the Imperials feared some kind of rescue. A single glance at the Stormcloaks showed they held no such hope, but the legion considered it a valid enough concern that whoever was in charge – one Tullius, if she was not mistaken- decided to deviate from their original destination.

Sigrun was under no illusion as to what likely awaited them wherever they might finally arrive. The Empire would look at any rebellion as treason, a crime that carried only one penalty. Perhaps she might find some way to escape that fate. It was only by happenstance that she was found with the rebels. That was hardly grounds for execution. Once this was sorted out, she'd be on her way – provided her own criminal history was not brought to light.

The young woman felt a stab of sympathy for the Stormcloaks. She knew how deep the cracks in the Empire went, knew intimately how Titus Mede failed his subjects when he made the decision to treat with the Thalmor and abandon the very god responsible for his throne in the first place. Sigrun had been raised to revere the god who was once man. She'd taken in stories of his path to divinity along with her mother's milk, had followed in her mother's footsteps to devote her life to the Divine, though she'd since...fallen in that respect. Even though the the White Gold Concordat had been signed several months before she was born, she felt the loss as keenly as any who'd grown up with the free worship of Talos.

Sigrun sighed and tugged a bit at her bonds in an effort to distract herself. Thoughts such as those led to dark places, places she was unwilling to confront just yet. The young woman looked up as a shadow fell across her, irritated to see the same man who'd brought her down. A trickle of fear slithered along her spine as she caught sight of her pack in his hands and the knowing smirk on his face.

“Thought I'd have a look, see what we have here,” he began conversationally as he gestured to the satchel. “And what do you think I found?”

The Nord woman swallowed hard, knowing full well what he'd found; there was little else in the bag at this point. The Imperial was just beginning his game however, his smirk morphing to a grin that was all teeth. He pulled a polished wooden amulet out of the pack just enough for Sigrun to catch a glimpse. She licked her lips, her throat suddenly dry. That bit of wood and cord was worth more to her than any amount of gold, and certainly more than the fool taunting her.

“You don't want something like this falling into the wrong hands, girl.” He gave her a measured look, voice low. “Might be we could come to an...arrangement of sorts.”

Fists clenched so tightly her nails bit into her palms, Sigrun dropped her gaze as if in defeat and nodded sharply. “Name your price,” she whispered.

Grinning in triumph, the man grabbed her by the arm and led her away. “Let's talk, he murmured, for her ears alone. At the questioning look of another legionnaire, her captor lifted his shoulder in a casual shrug. “This one needs a tree,” he laughed.

The other shook his head, but made no move to interfere. “I'd let the traitor piss herself, were it up to me. Go on then, but make her be quick about it.”

Sigrun was led a short distance away to a small group of trees. They were mostly out of sight, but still easily within hearing range, a fact the Imperial was quick to point out, lest she try anything ill advised.

“Now then, what's that bit of junk worth to you?” he asked with a leer. “And what might you be willing to give to see that the wrong ears don't get word of it?”

“I already told you, name your price.” Sigrun fought to keep her impatience from tinging her voice. She shuddered in disgust as the legionnaire ran a hand suggestively along her arm but made no move to stop him. Her shapeless clothing gave only the vaguest hint at what might lie underneath, but his appreciative gaze told her it was enough. His price was obvious. He opened his mouth to speak, but caught sight of her eyes and paused, a shadow of revulsion flitting across his features. Jaw tightening, he shoved her forward and motioned for her to walk.

“We're done here, rebel. Let's go.”

“My amulet,” Sigrun countered in a hard voice, unwilling to let the matter drop so easily. “I want my amulet.”

The legionnaire barked a laugh. “You got nothing I want, halfbreed,” he snarled, turning to face her. “And you're in no position to be bargaining.”

Sigrun stiffened, hatred sweeping through her with such fury it left her dizzy. Her awareness narrowed to the impudent man in front of her. “That amulet is worth more to me than the whole of your precious empire,” she spat venomously. “And by Talos, I mean to have it back!”

Leaning forward the Imperial dangled the leather cord in her face. “Your words mark you a traitor as surely as your trinket. You'll meet the headsman with the rest of the rebel--”

His words abruptly died as Sigrun brought a knee up hard into his abdomen. As he sank to his knees, breathless, she scrabbled in the snow for the small wooden hammer, her movements hindered by the bindings at her wrists. She nearly wept in gratitude as her stiff fingers closed around it, her body going limp with relief. She hastily tucked the amulet into her clothes and struggled to her feet, only to be met by a stinging slap that left her ear ringing and her mouth filled with blood.

“Bitch!” the Imperial hissed, yanking her arm ups and slamming her back against a tree. “You'll pay for that.”

The young Nord spat a mouthful of crimson in the man's face and snickered as his eyes bulged in rage. A flicker of dark eyes and a twitch of the hand betrayed her captor's intent to reach for his weapon, and without warning Sigrun lunged forward with all her might, bringing her arms down around the Imperial. Taking advantage of her opponent's momentary surprise, the woman used her momentum to slide behind him and bring her bound hands up under the legionnaire's jaw, pulling towards her chest until her arms shook with the strain. Her bonds worked for her, as the man was incapable of breaking her hold around his throat. As the blood roared in her ears, she thought she heard yelling, too muffled to make out and to distant to matter. She held on for what seemed like hours, relaxing her grip only when the man stopped moving.

Exhausted, her arms heavy as lead, Sigrun let the body drop and fought to catch her breath, her head spinning. A savage kick from behind sent her to the ground, her knees aching from the impact. A sea of irate voices swirled around her, buzzing like a nest of angry bees. She struggled to make sense of what they were saying before giving it up as unimportant. They'd kill her now, of that she had no doubt.
Another kick, this time to her ribs made her grunt in pain. Idly, she wondered if this counted as valiant combat. A sudden fervent wish to see her mother's face again inside the Halls of Valor sprung in her chest before a sudden sharp blow to her temple made her vision go black. With a soft sigh, Sigrun gave in to the encroaching darkness, unable to resist the allure of peace.














Such imgination.
 
Thank you!
Now that I read the rest of the chapters, I can see now that you have a talant for writing stories. You should keep writing :)

Your style is that of a professional writer! This piece of work amazes me in every way. The perspective being told to the in depth description of your character is really commercial quality! Nice job :D


I...I really don't know what to say. Thank you so much for the compliment! I'm pleased that you have enjoyed it so far.

If you haven't done so already, I highly recommend you check out Wind Guide You, by imaginepageant. Her story went a long way in inspiring me to write mine, and she was a huge help in cleaning up the first few chapters.
 
Just a quick note to say that SV has *not* been abandoned. Finding time to write has been a challenge lately, but I'll eventually have the next chapter up. I have no intention of leaving this unfinished.
 

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