Chapter 1

MY LITTLE DOVAHKIIN: Wrath of the Damned

Chapter 1

4E 202

The Rift, Skyrim. Somewhere southeast of Shor's Stone.

Birds were chirping in the warm, evening air. Leaves rustled as they caught the wind in their branches. Insects buzzed around in the air as they searched for their next meal. These were the sound of The Rift's northern forests.

And these were the reasons why Isen Storm-Rider hated being in these woods.

Sure, being a hero, this was probably in the job description, but spending 2 whole weeks in the forest with nothing but your own belongings and whatever the wilderness had to offer in the variety of game and fruit? That irked Isen. Those damned Wood Elves could have their damn forests.

Isen was an average Nord. He was about 6 feet high with a strong build and sinewy arms. His face was well rounded despite the usual wear-n'-tear of his homeland. His hair was midnight black, covering most of his forehead but only fell half an inch over the back of his neck. He sported a thick 5 o'clock shadow; the only thing that wasn't covered by his iron helm. He was still young, but Isen's dark blue eyes held the look of loss and sadness.

He, as he had found out with personal experience, was the Dragonborn. He possessed the body of a mortal, yet had the soul of a dragon. He really didn't believe it either. That is until he killed his first dragon.

Passing a small creek, Isen surveyed himself. He wore a set of Banded iron armor, complimented by his iron helm and shield. Strapped to his back was his steel sword, Relentless. It was a simple, straight broadsword about the length of his leg. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, though it was slightly worn.

He continued on his merry way. Near the foot of a hill, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he took cover behind a small tree and readied his sword.

He took in all the variables. Vampires: not likely. Hunters: not in this part of the forest. Cultists: damned to Oblivion they might be, but not this close to civilization. Bandits: probably. Skooma dealers were pretty desperate to make a profit, so having shipments protected by outlaws are common. As quick as any hare or fox, Isen darted from one tree to the next until he was only a couple of yards from the voices.

Then, he realized that the voices were all female. Not a lot of women took up raiding as a profession. Ever so quietly, Isen slowly stood up and peeked out from behind his cover.

And next was what he listed as the weirdest sight in his life.