Blood Born - A Skryrim Tale

1. Scarred Heart

I peeled my rain-soaked and blood-stained armor from my weak body, after stepping into my home. I was exhausted and I had an ample amount of things on my mind. Never would I be able to wash the blood from my hands. I almost felt bad for the ill-ridden fate of my contracts, just almost. I'd always queried why I did the things that I did, why I made the choices I made. I used to blame it on my upbringing and the atrocious things I went through, but maybe that was just my justification to keep believing I was a decent person.

These people, innocent or not, they still had families. They had people who needed them in their lives, but despite that, I still took the jobs. I slaughtered people. Money, no. It was never for money. But I still didn't ken exactly why I did it. There was no satisfactory aspect. I didn't like what I did but all at the same time, I didn't mind it. What was wrong with me, I had no idea.I wasn't numb, I felt more things that people would ever know. But I didn't ken how to show it. So instead, I killed. I killed to get away from my emotions. The Brotherhood thought it was more than that. They believed that I took pleasure from my killings. I didn't. I hid from myself. I hid. I'd been hiding for so long that eventually, I became ignorant. I became someone else. No, something else. A monster. The sounds of my victims' screaming echoed in my head. Why did I do it?

I walked towards the stairs as my armor landed heavily on the floor. "Milady! You're home!" My housekeeper came running into the room, I heard her shuffling footsteps coming from behind me as I walked into the bathroom. I pulled the pin from my hair, and my long, ginger locks fell down over my fair skin.

"You've heated my bath water, yes?" I asked Maria. My thick brogue accent echoed through my eerily empty home. Home. Home was a funny word. This wasn't home. I examined the wooden walls and floors and my heart suddenly felt empty. That was one of my first mistakes; believing I'd found a home without my family.

I was born to a Daedric father and a Breton mother. My mother cursed me for what I was. My father enslaved her for years, raping her countless times. He was pure evil, I hoped to Talos that I'd never become like him. But now, it's too late. He treated me well but even still, he was a monster, a demon at that. His power was cruel and terrifying.

When I turned 17 I ran away from home. I haven't been back since. 16 years alone now. I knew they were looking for me but I could care less. I was a dremora lord's bastard for Talos sake. I'd hidden away for 2 years before I found solitude with bandits in Skyrim. We were caught and half of the crew were executed by Imperial soldiers. But not me. I survived with dumb luck. Damned dragons. I was the Dragonborn, I'd found out by slaying my first dragon. It's life being sucked directly into my body, making me more powerful and giving me the inherent ability to use the Voice.

Had the dragon not appeared, Ulfric Stormcloak would have been gone and Skyrim would have been better off.

It wasn't until after the dragon destroyed everything that I realized I'd wanted to vanish at that moment. I was ready for my execution. I was ready to die. I would have been put out of my pitiful misery. But I only mucked up more and more. My first mistake: coming to Skyrim. I was suddenly pulled from my thoughts when my housekeeper responded to my question. "Yes, I have Milady. It should be at a perfect temperature now." I gave her a nod of satisfaction and shut the creaky bathroom door. I removed my undergarments and sat inside of the bathtub. I closed my eyes for a moment, my ear began to twitch at the sound of light footsteps. I knew what Maria, my maid's footsteps sounded like. Those weren't hers.