Thunder-Forged

[Templar of Talos]

Hey all, this is the first peice of fan fiction I've posted on these forums. Hope you like it.

Comments and constructive criticism welcome.

Part 1... Heart of Thunder

Sváfnir Thunder-Forged slowly stepped down the stairway leading into the dark, dank catacombs. Sword and Shield in their respective hands, his bow and quiver of iron cored arrows strapped to his back. He wore Iron on his hands, feet and head, Banded-Iron on his chest and legs. He looked every bit the Nord adventurer he would read about as a child. He sniffed the air, it was fouled with the scent of era-old rotting flesh and bone. He had explored many old Nord ruins and was used to the smell now. The first one, Bleak Falls Barrow, when he first stepped into the Draugr infested deep, the smell made him vomit digested venison and mead.

His ears and eyes were open, the darkend ruins, lit only by small specs of fire from the torches on the wall, were as cold as the snow of the north.

"NNNNNAAARRRRGGGGHHH" he heard... Draugr!

He readied his sword, 'Sváfnir's Fury' he had named the blade on it's forging. He spent twelve long hours forging and perfecting his blade, all his rage, sadness, hope, love, happiness went into the steel and iron blend of the weapon. To him, it wasn't just his weapon, it was his friend, a brother even. He had slain a great many creatures and people with the sword. Trolls, Sabre Cats, Spriggans, and a dragon. At the Western Watchtower in Whiterun Hold, alongside a Dark Elf and her brother Nord soldiers. One of them suggested he was 'Dragonborn' after the beast fell. the scales and flesh just seemed to burn off the giant beast, and the energy was sucked right into him. A guardsman told him how the Dragonborn could absord the souls of slain dragons. At first he thought the guardsman was talking nonsense, but when he heard the call 'DOVAHKIIN' from the Throat of the World, the highest mountain in Skyrim, he wasn't sure if it was nonsense at all. Whiterun's Jarl, Bulgruff the Greater. A good man who seemed to care for his people, told him it was the Greybeards summoning him and that he sould travel to High Hrothgar at once, at the peak of the Throat of the World. Sváfnir had been travelling for a day and a half. It was early morning, and he found an old ruin on the way, and he needed all the money he could lay his hands on, so what better way to earn some coin and practise his sword and archery skills than looting an old ruin.

He heard footsteps, whatever it was was getting closer, untill he could see it. A Draugr, an old rotting corpse, carrying what looked like an aincient battleaxe came lumbering towards him. It stopped, raised the axe above his head and rasped somthing in the old language. Sváfnir raised his Banded-Iron shield.

"Come and get it, rot-face!" he snarled at the walking dead.

The corpse advanced on brittle legs, and began it's swing, Sváfnir braced his left arm and the age-old axe clattered against the newer shield. the impact jarred Sváfnir's bones for a tiny second, and the Nord countered with a fore-swing with his sword, it cut deep enough to open the Draugr's belly. The corpse looked down as dried organs and dust poured out of the leathery wound, it seemed to laugh. But it didn't notice Sváfnir's follow up attack when the living Nord thrust the sword straight through the front of the Draugr's throat, on the blade's withdrawal, it severed the corpse's head from the rest of the body. Sváfnir watched the head roll down steps as the body slumped back and slid down after it.

"And to think, he could have been one of my own ancestors" he said to himself with a small chuckle.

Sváfnir pressed on, deeper into the ruins. He saw a couple of small burial urns sitting on a nearby shelf, he checked the corpse shelfs nearby, only one body there, a skeleton stripped of all flesh. He picked up one of the ornate containers, shaking it. It was empty. He picked up the other one, shaking it, it rattled. He took the lid off and poured the contents into his hand. Five gold coins and a golden ring with a ruby red jewl

"Ahh, this'll be worth somthing to that intolerable Breton trader" he said to himself, speaking of Bellathor in Whiterun, who he found to be inhumourous and sometimes sarcastic, mentioning selling his relatives or something.

He placed the coin in his coin purse and the ring in a small pouch strapped to his armour before pressing on further.

He headed down a corridor which twisted and turned before reaching a large chamber. Peering out, he saw spiders webs hanging off of every statue and ledge. Sváfnir shook his head. He hated Frostbite Spiders. As a child he was attacked by one whilst he was playing in a nearby forest near his home. He ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Luckilly his mother, Sigrys, killed the monster with a single arrow. His mother was a master hunter.

He reached for his own bow, shouldering his shield and sheathing his sword. He nocked an arrow and crouch walked into the chamber. He found himself on a ledge in a circle shaped chamber, a spiral walkway led to the lower level, and started it's descent on the opposite side. His tactical mind calculated that if there were any spiders in here with him, they would be on the lower level, and would have to make their way from the other side of the room before they could attack him. he would just have to watch for their poison spit. He creeped forward to the edge of the ledge and peered down. Two Frostbite spiders, one small one and a slightly larger one, and they hadn't seen him yet. He aimed his bow and drew the arrow, aiming for the bigger one's head. He took a silent, deep breath, held it, and released his drawing fingers as he exhaled. He nailed the bigger spider, the smaller one began it's ascent up the spiral ramp. Sváfnir nocked another arrow and drew, he aimed slightly in front of the spider's path 'Always lead your targets when they move' he remembered his mother saying to him when he learned how to shoot. He released and again, nailed the smaller spider. it shuddered before dying. He looked upwards and winked at the ceiling, hoping his mother would see it from Sovrngarde. He felt her wink back at him in his heart. he smiled and made his way to the other side, peering down to see if he missed any stragglers. he didn't. As he passed the smaller dead spider he kicked it out of his path. He remembered somthing his father had told him 'Never step over the corpse of a Spider. It's bad luck' when he was a boy.

He reached the lower level, there were egg sacs and a chest. He headed over to the chest. He tried to open it, it was locked. He racked his bow onto the hooks on his quiver, and reached into another leather pouch, producing a couple of lockpicks. He inserted them into the lock, he fiddled them about for a while until he heard a click. He carefully rotated the lock until it unlocked fully. He smirked and opened the chest. He counted forty five gold coins, a couple of Garnets, seven steel arrows, a set of mage's robes and a hood and a vicious, green metal dagger, Orcish by the looks of it. he looked at the dagger further, it seemed to glow with a purpleish hue.

"By Ysmir! A soul stealer" he whispered.

He didn't know much about magic, but he knew the basics, how different enchanted weapons and armour had different coloured hues to them depending on the type of enchantment used. If he had found this ten years ago, he would have dropped the dagger immeidetly and prayed to Talos, begging for forgiveness for touching such a foul weapon. But in the light of the current situation, Talos wouldn't begrudge him the coin a mage would pay for this dagger. So he put the items into a sack he wore at his hip.
He pressed on...

To Be Continued

 

[Templar of Talos]

Part 2... Legacy

Sváfnir, after the slaying of six Draugr throughout the ruins, found himself in what looked like a main burial chamber. Like the other rooms and corridors, the reek of ancient death was strong, but somehow stronger in here. With 'Sváfnir's Fury' drawn, and his Banded-Iron Shield ready, he slowly made his way up to what looked like an alter. He noticed six large, metal, upright caskets. Three on either side of the wide passage leading to the round chamber. Four of them had been opened, with the respective contents laying on the floor, long dead and not looking like they could get up. Not that it made Sváfnir act less cautiously. He noticed the positions of the two last caskets, the ones that were still sealed, and their contents probably more preserved than the ones laying on the floor. He kept his ears keen as he passed them. A couple of steps leading to a second tier, a large embalming table with a few ancient embalming tools and some ruined books. He made his way around the table, a large casket in the centre of the room a third tier lay doormant... Until the top came flying off, propelled by a large, bony fist. Sváfnir almost dumped his last meal into his undergarments as the Draugr, larger than the lesser Draugr he'd already faced and slain. Even bigger then the powerful Draugr he'd found the Dragonstone that milk-drinking mage at Dragonsreach had asked him to find a week ago.
The Draugr wore an ancient helm with two vicious looking horns pointing skywards. Sváfnir steeled himself. He heard what sounded like a battlecry, and then it hit him.

Sváfnir was nearly blown off of his feet by the force from the Draugr's voice. He remembered what he had been taught about the Thu'um, that many Dragon Cultists of the old Dragon War had learned to use the Thu'um. Although not as powerful as some Dragon's, it was strong enough to shake Sváfnir's very foundations of strength and his resolve... only slightly. He braced himself, took the deepest breath his lungs could muster, then unleashed his retaliation.

"FUS RO DAH!!!" he roared, followed by a sound that resembled a crack of thunder.

The wave of sheer force hit the Draugr like a Warhammer to the head, the walking corpse was no longer walking, but now flying, in the opposite direction, the Draugr hit the back wall of the chamber with a sickening crunch. Sváfnir was satisfied with the power of his newly learned Thu'um that the Greybeards had taught him not three days ago. No thanks to that interfering Breton woman, Delphine, one of the last of the Blades. Although, he had quietened her quite quickly when he slayed his second Dragon before her eyes, somthing that had pleased him. And she was about to put him in touch with the Thalmor, which suited him fine. He had much Altmer blood to spill in the coming days, somthing he would relish in.

Sváfnir heard the same sound as he had heard a few monents ago, the sound of sealed caskets being smashed open, this time behind him. He spun around to face what he knew he would face. Two lesser Draugr bounded towards him, old swords raised. Sváfnir dealt with them promptly, one felled by a blow to the torso from his Shield, the other halved by his own sword. He turned to face the larger Draugr. It had recovered from the shattering impact it had suffered and limped towards him, a greatsword with a blue hue to it in hands.

"You need two arms for a weapon like that" Sváfnir whispered to himself.

He lunged forward and denied the Draugr of his right arm with his Sword. No blood, just dust fell from the stump. He followed up with a blow from his Shield, which knocked the Draugr on his bony backside. The Corpse' mouth opened as Sváfnir's foot landed square in it's face, reducing the skull to splintered fragments and more dust. Sváfnir took some deep breaths. That was a tough fight, but he's had tougher. The son of a Blacksmith was fast becoming the warrior he was destined to be.

He stood straight, and reached into a pouch on his belt, pulling out a peice of parchment. He unfolded it and read what was written.

The book is on the Pedestall near Grokniir's Casket... Take it, it's an Heirloom.

From, a friend.

He searched for such a pedestall, and found it. He approached the black-iron pillar, and as the note said, it had a book sitting atop it. The tome, bound in well preserved brown leather, with ancient Nordic inscribed on the spine and the front sat there, undesturbed since the days of his ancestor. Ulgruff Thunder-Forged, one of Ysgramor's 500 companions. He remembered his father's stories of the first Thunder-Forged, named that by Ysgramor himself because he was apparently born during a raging thunderstorm.
The stories would send him to sleep at night, no fear of Goblins or Minotaur creeping into his bedroom at night to steal him away. 'Ulgruff watches over all his children' his father used to say. Didn't stop the Thalmor though. A flash of rage that always showed itself whenever he thought of the dagger-eared bastards of the Aldmeri Dominion's attack dogs heated his blood for an instance. He shook it out of him, coming back to the here and now. He took the book and placed it in his loot bag. And looked for a short cut to the ruin's exit...



Three weeks Later... Sky Haven temple.

"Esbern?" Sváfnir asked.

The old, and dithering Nord looked at the younger kinsman, his eyes seemed glazed with excitement at their latest find, that being Alduin's Wall.

"Yes, Dragonborn?" Esbern responded.

Sváfnir reached into his loot bag and pulled out the book he had found in the ancient Nord ruin three weeks earlier. Then looked back at the elder Nord.

"You can read Ancient Nordic, can't you?" he asked.

Esbern smiled and chuckled.

"An old forgotten art these days, but yes I can. Why do you ask?" he enquired, eyeing the book in Sváfnir's meaty hands.

The younger Nord held the book towards Esbern.

"It's this. I'm ashamed to say I can't read it. I was wondering if you, when you have the time to spare of course, could read through it and see if it says anything about my family" Sváfnir requested.

Esbern took the book and had a quick but careful look through it.

"Oh, curious... Most curious. It seems this was a journal of some kind. Prehaps written by an ancestor of yours. Yes... Most curious indeed" he stated, his eyes seeming to smile as he read.

He flicked through a few more pages before nodding and glancing back to Sváfnir.

"Of course I can, my boy. Now that we have a place to work from, I'd be happy to do this for you. It may take a while, but I'll have it done when next we meet" he chirped, happy to have been trusted with this.

Sváfnir grinned untill his mostache and chin-beared widened.

"You have my thanks, Esbern of the Blades" He said, grateful.

Sváfnir, who in the last weeks had swapped his Iron armour for Steel, had taken a part time job as a Blacksmith's apprentice in Whiterun to improve his knowledge of his late father's trade, strapped on the finley crafted horned steel helmet to his head.

"May Talos guide you, Dragonborn" Esbern said to him.

Sváfnir simply nodded, before saying.

"May he guide is all" Sváfnir replied, before leaving, nodding to Delphine, the Breton woman who annoyed him slightly.

The Dragonborn, or Dovahkiin, the one feared by Dragons, and soon the Thalmor, began his long journey to High Hrothgar.


To Be Continued...

 

[Templar of Talos]

Part 3... Stormfury

Sváfnir thought the peace meeting went well, for the Stormcloaks. He had made his intentions clear to General Tullius, commander of the the Imperial Legionarres in Skyrim, that he wanted them out of Skyrim, that there was no place for a representative of an archaic government who bend their knee to a bunch of dagger-eared bastards who claim that Talos simply died because he was a man. The fact that he had bought Elenwyn, the Thalmor Abassador to the meeting was proof of the Empire's cowardice. The Stormcloaks only lost Dawnstar, but he secretly vowed to Ulfric Stormcloak that they would win the small port town back in due time. Once the current situation was dealt with, the Dragon situation.

The peace treaty was needed for one reason, the use of Dragonsreach. The Palace of Jarl Bulgruuf the Greater of Whiterun. According to old Nord legend. The palace contained a device to actually capture a Dragon. Sváfnir planned to capture one and interrogate it, torture it if need be, to learn of Alduin's plan. Alduin was the large, black Dragon that had, in some twisted way, assisted his escape from Helgen. Sváfnir had also seen the dragon twice since. Once at Kynesgrove, where he and Delphine witnessed how the Dragons were coming back to life. And again on the peak of the Throat of the World, after he had used an Elder Scroll to cast himself back in time to learn the Dragonshout known as Dragon Rend. He had even gotten the chance to use that shout on Alduin during their short duel. it worked, forcing the World Eater to land. But he managed to escape before Sváfnir could finish him off. He would get a second chance to do so soon.

"So, I'll be expecting you to join us in the fight to free Skyrim once you've dealt with the Dragon problem?" Ulfric Stormcloak asked Sváfnir .

Sváfnir rolled his eyes. Although he respected Ulfric's motives, as most Nord's did, he didn't like the man much himself. Sváfnir was many things, but he didn't hold to Ulfric's beliefs that Skyrim should be for the Nords alone. He had seen the way that the Dunmer had been treated in Windhelm and he was sickened by it. His best friend growing up in Cyrodiil was a Dumner named Avrefal. His father was an Enchanter and his mother was a Alchemist. When he was nine, Sváfnir and Averfal were exploring the forest south of Bruma and he had gotten into a brawl with a lone Goblin. Sváfnir was pretty strong as a boy, even for a Nord, and he made short work of the Goblin, snapping it's neck, but the Goblin has clawed his left leg. Averfal had helped him to limp home and Averfal's mother healed his leg with a sweet tasting healing potion and checked him for any diseases he may have caught. When his own father learned of Sváfnir's slaying of the Goblin, he took him to the local Inn and bought him his first bottle of Mead. Sváfnir was drunk on just half a bottle, the rest of the bottle rendered him unconcious and his father had to carry him home.
Averfal was killed ten years later by a vengeful Spriggan whilst out Bear hunting. Sváfnir often shed a tear for his Dark Elf friend, and helped out other Dunmer whenever he found them in need. When they asked why, he would simply say 'One of your people was a good friend to me'.

"In time, Jarl Ulfric, in time" he replied, before turning and walking away 'And I'll see to it that you'll not be mooted in as High King' He thought to himself as he headed towards Esbern of the Blades, who had beckoned him over moments before.
With him was Delphine, that annoying old Breton woman. She had stated that in order to continue receiving the help from the Blades, that he would have to slay a Dragon named Parthuunax, the head of the Greybeards. He made it clear to her that the old Dragon had been more than helpful to him than she ever was, and told her that her help wasn't needed. She hadn't spoken to him since. Esbern, however, was willing to speak with him.

"Dragonborn, I have somthing for you" He said, handing him the book he had gave him less than three weeks ago at Sky Haven.

Sváfnir took the book, looking at Esbern. "What did you learn?" he asked the elder Nord.

Esbern smiled, and began.

"It seems that it was written by one of your ancestors, a Wulfraad Thunder-Forged, are you familiar with that name?"

Sváfnir nodded, he possesed much knowledge of his family history. He knew that his Ancestor Ulgruff Thunder-Forged, the founder of the clan was one of Ysgramor's five hundred. Wulfraad was his third son.
"Yes, he was a warrior-poet, and a great lover of women. They say he sired over a thousand bastards before settling down with the one woman that at first had turned him down. He sired five children with her, four daughters and a son. I didn't know he was a scholar too" Sváfnir said.

Esbern chuckled.

"This was the first of many books he wrote. This particular tome was the story of his father's final battle. Shortly after the building of the Palace of Kings in Windhelm, Ysgramor made his father into what is known as a Paladin-Knight, an idea borrowed from the ancient Falmer. Nord Paladin-Knights were esspecially skilled at dealing with un-dead creatures. Draugr, Vampires and any minions that were raised back from dead by Elf Necromancers. There was one such Necromancer, an Elf by the name of Agrinor, a dark, malevolent Elf who plagued the hold now known as Windhelm for many years. Ulgruff Thunder-Forged was charged with his destruction" Esbern told him.

Sváfnir's eyes widened as he took what he had been told in, this was somthing he was never told as a child. Whenever he asked his father how old Ulgruff died, his father would just shrug and say 'You'll have to ask him when you get to Sovngard'.

"Well... What happend?" he asked eagerly.

Esbern pursed his lips, but spoke.

"He and his eldest son and squire, Jonrud. Spent nigh on a year hunting Agrinor, they eventually found him in an ancient Falmer underground stonghold somewhere in the Reach. Where exactly I don't know. There was a tremndous battle between Agrinor and your ancestor. Ulgruff was mortally wounded. Jonrud took his own sword and attacked the Necromancer. Agrinor cast a spell on him and was about to enslave his very soul. Ulgruff, in his fury and love for his son, dispite his wound, rose to his feet and struck a mighty blow against Agrinor, slaying him for good. He died shortly after in Jonrud's arms. Jonrud had to leave Ulgruff's body in the stronghold as the spell that was cast on him left him too weak to carry the body back to the Palace of Kings. Wherever this stronghold is, I wager that you're ancestor's remains are still there. Along with this."

Esbern flicked through the book till he found a page that had a beatifully inked image of a sword. Similar to the old swords carried by modern Draugr in design, but this one had a bright blue blade. There was some ancient Nordic writing underneath the picture.

"What does that say?" Sváfnir asked

Esbern smiled and simply said.

"Stormfury."

Sváfnir had a sudden urge to go on a relic hunt. He had seven nights before the Dragon trap at Dragonsreach would be ready. Plenty of time to find this old Falmer Stronghold and find his ancestral sword. It belonged in the hands of a Thunder-Forged.

To Be Continued...