Survivor (A Skyrim Fan-Fiction)

Chapter Sixteen

The grey, crumbling stone towers of Helgen rose slowly out of the ground like clockwork in a flurry of black smoke and dust. The outer walls and the thatch-roofed houses faded into the town, and the dry muddied ground spread out from under where I was standing.

It was exactly the same as it was all of those years ago, apart from that there were no Imperials, no Stormcloaks, and absolutely no villagers. There was no one; only me.

I wandered the lonely and abandoned streets of the town that should have been destroyed to rubble by Alduin, yet here it stood very much in one piece. No sound could be heard other than the light rustling of the trees and the evil cry of crows.

My feet carried me forward to the courtyard where the beheading block was, though now there was much, much more.

On the front of the tower were a pair of hand shackles mounted on the wall, with a lacerated Galmar hanging in nothing other than a small cloth to cover his parts. Horribly deep crimson cuts decorated his hairy body, as well as what looked like someone had clean out carved some of his flesh off of his body like you would with a roast ham.

Below was said carved-out flesh sickeningly thrown to the side surrounded by a pool of blood, along with Galmar's bushy grey beard which he had been so proud of.

I backed away truly disgusted, only to trip up on a twitching body behind me. It was in the blue and leather Stormcloak armor, yet red was seeping down from the neck that was missing a head. Almost hurling from the vile smell and view, I doubled over facing the ground wanting to rid myself of the image.

A mess of bright blonde hair rolled into my view, and the wide, distant, blue eyes of Ralof poured into me like it was all my fault he met this gruesome demise. His disappointed stare sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn't help but feel guilty for whatever I've done wrong.

Managing not to bring everything in my stomach back up, I gently picked up Ralof's head, trying not to look at him, and put it as close as I could manage to his neck so it didn't look like he was decapitated.

"I'm sorry, old friend," I muttered to the corpse, perhaps in some hope that he'll hear me.

I continued touring the what-should-be-demolished town and came to the towering stone keep where I had decided to escape with Ralof instead of an Imperial named Hadvar. They had both helped in my escape, though I could've managed perfectly fine on my own, but it was because of the mere fact that the Imperials had sentenced me to death for no reason that pushed me to go with Ralof, and eventually join the Stormcloak rebellion.

I reminisced the chaos caused that day, the adrenaline that ran through my blood and the way I could hear my heart pounding in my ears. Before then, I was living but I wasn't alive. I was breathing but I wasn't feeling. It was on that day that life truly started.

I spun round slowly recollecting my memories of Helgen, and it was only then that I noticed the gibbet in the far end of the courtyard with a blackened figure swinging limply from a tight noose around its neck.

A host of a dozen shiny black crows attended the feast in silence. My curiosity drew me closer, the sound of my approach sending the dining crows into flight with a series of complaints.

Though there was no wind blowing, the body swung towards me to show the face of the dead.

"By the Gods..." I whispered, the bile I felt rising up in my throat threatening to project out. Again.

Not much was left of him, an eyeball and a half was missing from their sockets, his bottom lip hanged down by a thread, and two holes were on the side of his head where his ears had once been.