Frost (Skyrim Fan-fiction)

Ch I

"Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart."

-          Kodlar Whitemane

As the ship's hull pierce through the rough waves, a faint outline of the majestic Blue Palace could be viewed from the deck. The capital of Skyrim, Solitude was to home to High King Torygg and built on an arch overseeing the ruthless Sea of Ghost, whose name did not come lightly. The vessel had already sustained several ruptures when it was hit by unsuspected waves and by maneuvering through the ice berg infested water. Barely able to stay afloat, the ship captain would have docked the ship early had it not been for one passenger the ship harbored.

He was a hardy Breton cloaked in the common black robes of a necromancer who had paid the ships worth for passage to Skyrim, no questions asked. Without questions the captain accepted and hoisted the sails. Now three good crew men laid dead at sea after the first storm hit them. When the second came two more lives were taken, till the only ones left were the captain, the cook, two powder moneys, and the stranger. Still, with the gold the captain would manage repairs and a new crew once they reached the East Empire Company docks.

"That be Solitude," spook the captain to the remaining crew and the passenger, "Capital of Skyrim and home to their High King Torygg. I'm afraid the trip cost me more than what I had hoped for," he said as he placed his hand over his scimitar as to intimidate his guess.

"Your recklessness is none of my concern captain and fair warning, I don't take threats lightly."

"Aye, but what am I to do now that my crew has been reduced to nothing but an old cook and two powder monkey too young to even grow their first chin hairs."

"You look like a smart Redgurad so don't act stupid. I paid you enough to cover for your crew and more. Now dock the ship so things won't get ugly."

"Don't push me, boy. I'll feed your remains to the slaughter fish if you answer to me like that, understood!"

As soon as those last words escaped the captain's lips, the hooded passenger's hands shot out and bathed the captain in flames. The captain reacted quickly, knowing the flames could eat his leather armor quickly. He drew his blade and lashed out blindly towards the direction of the flames. The cook drew his ax and hacked at the mage, but the mage proved quick, muttering a flesh spell strong enough to deflect the iron edge.

The older of the two powder monkeys though he could join in and reached towards the weapon rack to grab the wood cutter ax that was there. But, as quickly as he had grabbed it and turned a shard of ice cut through the rags he wore and ruptured his stomach. The fight was over. The captain's charred corpse floated on the surface for a few seconds before sinking down. The cook laid on the deck bleeding from his neck. The stranger stood looking at the remaining powder monkey. His left hand's finger tips were coated in a thin layer of frost from the ice spike he had cast, and in his right hand he held a bound sword resonating a strange purple aura.

"How old are you," he asked with worry in his voice

"Twe-twelve s-sir," he studded avoiding the eyes of the mage.

"Then your captain was right. You haven't even grown your first chin hair have you boy?"

"I'll be a man come Frostfall, sir."

"I would hardly consider thirteen manhood, but that's probably your Nord way of thinking. Hmm... what should I do with you now," he took a few steps back and leaned on the skips side.   

"Please sir," he began to plea, "I can find another job and fend for myself, just let me go."

"Let you go? Feel free to jump off but I warn you, these waters are home to slaughter fish. They'll eat off whatever meat your bones have."

The lad looked out into the sea and the surrounding area. The water was likely infested with slaughter fish. To the east the swampy outskirts of Hjaalmarch, infested with mudcrabs, slaughter fish, frost spiders, and more creatures that lurk in those shadows. They were still far from the docks. Even if he jumped and survived, Skyrim's was a harsh and hostile environment.

"Tell you what lad, dispose of these two and clean up the blood. I'll dock the ship and let you walk out of here with the same amount of coin I promised your captain, got it."

He quickly nodded and looked at the cook and the other boy.

"If you even mutter of word to the guards and I'll slice your throat."

The mage left hand glowed purple as he shot at the cook. The blood stopped gushing from his neck as he stood up. With the bound sword he took another swing at his neck cutting it clean off. The body stumbled and fell, the flesh turning into ashes.

"I find it easier to dispose of the ashes rather that the body. Here," the mage grabbed a scroll from his satchel and tossed it at the lad, "point at your friend there then give it a good whack with that iron ax the cook had."

The lad looked in befuddlement at the scroll hoping that he was joking, some cruel sense of humor the necromancer had, but he did not asked again. His fingers shaking and beads of sweat gathering on his forehead, he drew the scroll and pointed it at the corpse. A lilac light shoot out pushing the lad a bit back. The corpse twitched and then rose up, its stomach hanging opened.

"Now take the ax lad."

He took it and looked at the reanimated boy. Not an hour ago he was telling him how he had dreamed of walking through the streets of the Imperial city with treasure he had found on his journey across the world. He wanted to be an adventurer and retire to the Imperial city when it was time. He wanted to die old and rich, but now he was here, dead at the hands of the mage. Even as a walking corpse it didn't fell right killing him.

"Lad, either you kill him or I'll make him kill you."

"I can't, he was my friend."

With a sigh, the mage raised his left hand and shot out a crimson light at the corpse. It raised it wooded ax and slashed at the lad. He held the iron ax, deflecting the swipe, but was too slow to stop the other from slashing his right arm. The blood trickled onto the deck and got absorbed into the wood. He slashed at the corpse's open stomach, the pain causing it to drop to its knees.

"This is no longer your friend, it is but a mindless corpse under my control. You have to accept the harsh realities if you want to survive. Finish him, lad."

He took one last swing at it, imbedding the edge deep into its skull. It drop to the side and quickly turned to ashes. The mage walked up to the lad and kneed at his side. "What did you learn from this," he asked the boy as he his hands morphed into a golden light over the boy's bleeding arm.

The boy did not answer, instead he looked at the ashes with sympathy in his eyes. He did not deserve to die and be brought back like a doll only to be humiliated and killed again.

"What is your name, lad?"

"Godric."

"I'm Cenric, now let's dock the ship. I have some business to attend to at the Blue Palace. If I were you I would stick close. It isn't as bad as Riften, but it can be just as cruel."

The sea wind blew away the ashes, the remains of the people that once were and will now forever be forgotten and never be missed. Godric let the blood sink into the wood as a reminder or tombstone to where they fell. He was back in Skyrim, a harsh and hostile environment where the Nords have adapted to, but now in turmoil.