The three of them are laughing and joking, turning a boring chore into something more enjoyable. You feel a pang of loneliness followed by another of jealousy. You wish you'd been able to persuade Frynhilde from the village to step out with you. You wish it was safe enough to shut up the inn and travel. You need a wife, or at least a close friend. Someone who cares about you the way these travellers care for each other.
In the middle of the night, you're awakened by yells. You hurry upstairs to find the priest hurtling out of the door shouting “Dragon!”. Two of his companions are following, their fully-armoured state suggesting that they hadn't taken it off. The other two are hastily trying to get dressed, stuffing feet into boots and struggling with leather straps and catches.
The female housecarl, Lydia, pauses as she sees you at the top of the stairs. “Please stay inside,” she says, drawing her blade as she runs towards the door. “It's not safe.”
An almighty roar from overhead, louder than anything you've ever heard echoes her statement, and you nod in agreement. If you were a braver man, you might ignore her and go anyway. There's the warhammer you keep behind the bar to break up fights... But using it would take you far closer to a live dragon than you'd ever want to get. You pray that these travellers really are as experienced in the art of dragonslaying as they claim.
Watching from the window, you can see the dragon flying overhead. It's too dark to see well, just a silhouette against the sky, and the Hold Guards' arrows are failing to reach their target. The priest, meanwhile, has cast some sort of spell and is outlined in glowing blue, making him far too visible. He still isn't wearing any kind of armour – is he crazy? The big Companion, the one who doesn't speak much, is trying to lure the dragon towards him, waving a steel greatsword and shouting.
The dragon breaks from its pattern and flies low, spraying the attackers and nearby houses with fire. The Guards are swearing, some of them rolling on the ground to put out flames on their tunics. The woman is speaking to them urgently, waving her hands, and you see about half of them leaving the battlefield. What's going on? Sharp icicles form in the priest's hands, and he throws them upwards, hitting the dragon easily and piercing its scales. Frost forms on its wings, and it veers to the left. Then the priest Shouts.
You've heard that the Dragonborn could Shout. You'd even heard that Ulfric Stormcloak Shouted High King Torygg to death. You didn't realise before what that means. The Imperial Shouts a single word, and the walls of your inn – of all the buildings around – rattle. How can a man's voice hold so much power? Something like snow streams from his open mouth towards the dragon, freezing it solid for a moment. Unable to flap its wings, it drops to the ground, whereupon the Companion brothers – the talkative one now armed with a sword and shield – slice into it deeply. You can see the dark blood dripping from its cut skin.
The dragon rallies, snapping its teeth at the brothers. The one with the shield dodges easily, the other with the greatsword is more clumsy. The beast picks him up in its mouth and throws him across the village – but somehow the priest is there, casting what must be a healing spell. Golden light surrounds the Nord as he gets back on his feet, gathering his strength for another charge. As the dragon takes off, the Legionary and the housecarl pull arrows from their quivers and take aim. Their bows must be enchanted because you can see a flash of magic each time an arrow hits.
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timeasmymeasure
What the Innkeeper Saw - 4/7
Date: 2013-09-26 11:40 pm (UTC)In the middle of the night, you're awakened by yells. You hurry upstairs to find the priest hurtling out of the door shouting “Dragon!”. Two of his companions are following, their fully-armoured state suggesting that they hadn't taken it off. The other two are hastily trying to get dressed, stuffing feet into boots and struggling with leather straps and catches.
The female housecarl, Lydia, pauses as she sees you at the top of the stairs. “Please stay inside,” she says, drawing her blade as she runs towards the door. “It's not safe.”
An almighty roar from overhead, louder than anything you've ever heard echoes her statement, and you nod in agreement. If you were a braver man, you might ignore her and go anyway. There's the warhammer you keep behind the bar to break up fights... But using it would take you far closer to a live dragon than you'd ever want to get. You pray that these travellers really are as experienced in the art of dragonslaying as they claim.
Watching from the window, you can see the dragon flying overhead. It's too dark to see well, just a silhouette against the sky, and the Hold Guards' arrows are failing to reach their target. The priest, meanwhile, has cast some sort of spell and is outlined in glowing blue, making him far too visible. He still isn't wearing any kind of armour – is he crazy? The big Companion, the one who doesn't speak much, is trying to lure the dragon towards him, waving a steel greatsword and shouting.
The dragon breaks from its pattern and flies low, spraying the attackers and nearby houses with fire. The Guards are swearing, some of them rolling on the ground to put out flames on their tunics. The woman is speaking to them urgently, waving her hands, and you see about half of them leaving the battlefield. What's going on? Sharp icicles form in the priest's hands, and he throws them upwards, hitting the dragon easily and piercing its scales. Frost forms on its wings, and it veers to the left. Then the priest Shouts.
You've heard that the Dragonborn could Shout. You'd even heard that Ulfric Stormcloak Shouted High King Torygg to death. You didn't realise before what that means. The Imperial Shouts a single word, and the walls of your inn – of all the buildings around – rattle. How can a man's voice hold so much power? Something like snow streams from his open mouth towards the dragon, freezing it solid for a moment. Unable to flap its wings, it drops to the ground, whereupon the Companion brothers – the talkative one now armed with a sword and shield – slice into it deeply. You can see the dark blood dripping from its cut skin.
The dragon rallies, snapping its teeth at the brothers. The one with the shield dodges easily, the other with the greatsword is more clumsy. The beast picks him up in its mouth and throws him across the village – but somehow the priest is there, casting what must be a healing spell. Golden light surrounds the Nord as he gets back on his feet, gathering his strength for another charge. As the dragon takes off, the Legionary and the housecarl pull arrows from their quivers and take aim. Their bows must be enchanted because you can see a flash of magic each time an arrow hits.