ES-Fan story Chapter 1: The Call

It was a long time ago, that Voices were raised and a great evil was cast down. Many tales circled the provinces, of an ancient legend come to life. Years passed, and though the people of Skyrim revered the accomplishments, he too, knew his time would come. But over two hundred years have passed...

Darkness fell over the Jerral Mountains as a figure dashed across the horizon. The sound of hooves on the fresh fallen snow was so loud in her ears, she thought someone might hear and somehow know what she had just done. She would be arrested, or worse, killed. But no one found her until she crossed the borders into Skyrim. She played it cool through most the way, snuck into a covered wagon after ditching her horse.
She kept her white hair covered, she didn't want to be spotted, and she kept her red eyes down. First Morrowind, then Cyrodil. Her mother was killed when she was young, a distant relative taking her in until she decided to make her way to the West to find her fortune. Cyrodil, despite losing much of Imperial control, still stood, and though she was no Altmer, she thought being an Elf might let her have more chances. It went fine until that Count's son tried to have his way with her.
It was fast, but bloody. She was summoned to him for what he told her was a business proposal, and she grabbed the first thing she could see once his true intentions were made clear. She was young still, just sixteen, but she was no fool. He wouldn't be talked out of it, so she let him get close enough, then attacked. She hadn't meant to kill him, she tried for his chest, he thought she was going higher, he 'ducked', and the next moment his throat was slit. At first she panicked, then searched for another way out. She jumped out his bedroom window, and vanished into the night.
Nirael's eyes opened, the dream still having a hold on her senses. The Dunmer blinked several times before the remnants of sleep faded away, and she sat up in her bed. She wanted more sleep, but she was awake now in the pre-dawn and got up, rubbing her eyes. She dressed enough to cover herself and made her way to the training rooms.
There, she picked up a blade and started through her usual routine movements, the familiarity calming her down. Not long after she finished, others started to come in, mumbling a hello or morning to each other, only a couple making eye contact with her. It was fine with her, not many women had joined this faction. It was hard at first, the men didn't think she would make it past the first week. But she had been trained before by her father, a well respected soldier of Blacklight. Her stomach growled, and she headed to the dining hall. It was large enough to fit at least two hundred men, spears and trophies hanging from the ceiling and walls with their banner. Their organization had done well, giving the people of not just Skyrim but other lands as well a peace of mind. She herself had been there for around ten years, maybe more, she didn't really keep track. All she knew was that she missed her home.
It was in the fourth Era, 205, new troubles rose from the dragons that still roamed Tamriel.
It was an off shoot group from mercenaries, former guards, and even some of the Companions broke their ways to form a new faction. In two short years they had enough members to establish an organization that called themselves 'The Slayers'.
They prided themselves on being able to track down and slay dragons, provided they had the coin. Nirael wasn't completely sure what happened to make the Slayers and the Companions despise each other, but the two groups did not get along, and it was a bit messy when they did run across each other's paths. After breakfast, she went to her room and dressed in her armor. A small screech made her turn her head to see a hawk, a tiny rolled up paper on its leg. She went over and took it off, and tossed a bit of meat to the bird, who swallowed it down in a hurry.
~Daughter, I am having trouble with rats today, they were in the shadows and I think they are getting bigger. Please send someone to capture them.~
Rats. Of course. Nirael didn't care much for Riften, but if her father wanted her to go, she would. Capture told her to seek out Niden, an old man that had ears on the ground. Use to be a fence for the Thieves Guild, then retired with a nice amount of gold. Of course he had a few debts so after he paid them off not much remained. Gold was the best way to loosen his lips. That and mead. He would know of anything or anyone that might be willing to join the Slayers. The ride to Riften would take a while, so she packed right away, wanting to get there as soon as possible. The Captain of her squad usually left her to her own devices so it shouldn't be a problem, her leaving suddenly. The Orc was brutal in training, he didn't let up just because she was a woman. It was hard, but eventually she earned her place in the group. She had come to like him and a few others well enough. It would make it all the harder though when the time came to leave and go home. Nirael would deal with it though when it came. Until then, she would do her duty she was given.
He wasn't her real father, but he was like one to her. Odd, and sometimes a bit cold, he was usually busy with his potions. Still, he taught her many things. Better swordplay, bows, and some restoration.
----
Sometimes at night when everyone was asleep, Inga would sneak out of her room and walk around the large stone monastery. It was usually quiet anyway, but she would go outside and listen to the wind blowing the snow in circles around the courtyard. It was like the calm before the storm, nothing but them living here so high and yet, nature raged against the stone walls.
She remembered how it would frighten her when she first came to live there. Only seven when she lost her mother, she could remember a dragon attacking as they were traveling to the city, the guards held it off and most of them died, her mother went to defend her only child. One man left, but he was too injured to move far. She could remember crying, and something rushed to her from the dead beast. Words she didn't know, some knowledge she had never known before. She made her way to where she thought was the city, down the old path alone.
Then a man came up to her, told her she would be alright, and wrapped her in his large cloak and carried her away, up a mountain. Those memories were a bit fuzzy, but her life since then had changed much. In a way, she wished she had never left to seek the outside world. The monastery was all she knew. Dreams were the ones that made her curious, dreams of cities and maybe even a little adventure. So many more people to meet and food to try, so many things to learn. Herlof was the first to sense her restlessness, but didn't tell the others. He was always the one that made her feel better. After a hard day, when she felt sad, he was there with a treat or to just sit with her until she was ready to talk about it.
The other monks were kind, but the one had taken on the roll of a kind of father that she had never known. No one had really taken the place of her mother, though a few were female. Inga was told she would be safe there, but it was hard work at first. She was restless and resisted the meditation she was taught. Herlof was the one to smile at her and wait until she had thrown her angry fit. Her mother had died in front of her, she was mad, but he was the one that held her after a nightmare. As far as she knew, he had no children of his own, so when she became older, she had realized all he had done for her. Eventually as she grew older, she became restless in a new way.
Inga had read so many books about life outside, a feeling started to spark to life inside her. As hard as she tried to squash it back down, or ignore it, she could shake what she had began to want. She had suppressed the memory of her mother and the guards being killed, but one night she had a dream. And it reminded her of something she had thought she forgot long ago.
She yearned to see the outside world once more, and though she had learned to love the monks there, she could remember the hardships she and her mother went through. Maybe she could help others. With her power and all she had learned in the monastery, she could make a life, one where she could really live. One night, Herlof was taken aside and she explained to him her feelings. His face didn't change much, but he held her tightly, and told her to be careful. The world was not like them, he made sure to drive that into her. There was cruelty, death and selfishness. Inga closed her eyes and promised she would.
As she left the steps, she looked back and her heart ached to leave, but she had made up her mind. Never knowing when she would return, she walked down the mountain with just a few items of clothing and some dried meat and a skin of water.
She had told Herlof goodbye. And despite her comforting herself, a passing thought of never seeing them again made her feel a kind of dread for the first time.
----
The morning sun shone through the window just downstairs, letting enough light into Inga's room to wake up slowly. She was use to rising with the sun, so it wasn't long until she was up and getting dressed. She pulled on a blue and gray dress, her golden hair brushed back with a braid on either side. It was in the mornings that she felt the most alone, she would eat breakfast alone and there wasn't anyone to talk to at dawn. So she meditated, she think on what she would do today and the words she had learned. It had been three years already, but in her heart it was much longer. The first time she had been to Whiterun, the dome surprised her. The Slayers had built it up from the ruins of the old watchtower there, stories told it was a dragon attack. She didn't doubt it, but as everyone was afraid of a dragon attack, it surprised her how much they were hated. It took about a year until she was able to get settled into a city, selling furs was a good enough business, and she already had skinned many animals at the Monastery. Bounty hunting was also well paid, but that one took longer to get down. She had to learn how to properly use a blade, but it took another skill she had learned growing up. The first time she had used a Shout, she had almost been killed. An arrow grazed her shoulder, and a bandit was running up to her with his mace up high to strike her down. All her life she had been taught use it for the worship of the Gods.
But she was also taught that her life was special. Unique. Surely the Divines wouldn't mind if she did it for self-preservation? Inga opened her eyes after meditating a bit longer, and put her boots on to go outside. It was tiring, being torn between the ways of the world, and the ways she was taught. For three years she had tried her best to find some kind of balance, and if she would be honest with herself and others, it was almost... Invigorating, using her Voice. But she never used it around people, not in the cities she visited.
It wasn't only to keep her from getting in trouble, but she saw no reason to boast either. It was a gift, not something to be abused.

The city was busy as she walked outside, the forge in the plains district was going hot, and she could hear the voices of the people going about their chores or buying food at the stands. For her, Inga went right to the Skyforge overlooking Jorrvaskr. She left the Wind district, passing the food stalls, going up the stone steps and near the flowering Gildergreen. She loved the tree, it made Whiterun her favorite city, Solitude the second.
Hareld was always up early working the Skyforge, smithing the Companion's weapons or sharpening a blade. He was a kind man, hard to provoke, but a well known warrior. As she walked up the steps she could hear so many things. The pounding on an anvil, children talking, the birds in the Gildergreen. High Hrothgar was so silent, here was loud, but she had come to love all the life around it.
"Ah there you are lass." Hareld's voice broke through her thoughts and Inga smiled. "Your blade is more than ready, nice and sharp." The older man said, pulling out a cloth covered item, which Inga unfolded to reveal  a sword. She took it and gave it a few swings, admiring the craftsmanship it took to make it. "Thank you for doing this, it looks lovely." She smiled at him, and he nodded in response. Lovely wasn't the word he would use, but it didn't bother him.
"Here's what I owe." She handed him a coin sack, which he put in a satchel on his belt. She sheathed the blade as he went back to the forge. "Thank you, I would say come again but I know you will." Inga laughed. "Always."
Inga had walked down the streets most the way to her house, when something happened that hadn't for who knew how long. It wasn't really an earthquake, but the air shook with a kind of power that startled the people. To her, though it was familiar, it projected something inside her. Like an instrument missing from a symphony.
"Do-Vah-Kiin!" They had spoken, and whoever they were, they froze and looked upward to the Throat of the world. A few began to kneel and pray, others whispered things to themselves, and many were merely in shock. Inga stared up at the sky, her mouth open, but said nothing. Her mind began to race at why they would call her back. Why now? She blinked and looked around her, everyone she saw seemed just as dumbfounded as she felt. They Greybeards had spoken, she knew what it meant, calling her. For years she hadn't heard from them, not since she had last seen them. A familiar sense of longing filled her chest, almost glad they had called. But there was something else in her heart, that she brushed off as homesickness.
In her home, she gathered what she thought she may need. Inga didn't pack as much food as others might, she was good at hunting. Inga went to the stables and got on her cream colored horse, making sure her bags were tightly in place. All the way her chest felt tight, even breathing like she was taught became difficult.
She avoided a few places that usually had bandits, shot down wolves and a bear on her way, but thinking about why they had called her after all these years made her nervous.
The Gods, she thought had always seemed to give her peace, didn't seem to be there much as she journeyed.
----
That afternoon after cleaning her blade, Nirael froze as the call deafened everything else. The birds stopped singing, but none flew away. The people going about Riften paused their deals and work. The Dunmer looked up, speechless. For once in a long time, a spark of hope came to life. She had spent so long looking for dragon hunters, so long away from home on a mission that she had begun to think was fruitless.
Nirael stood and put her sword away. When the Greybeards called, there could be no doubt who was going to answer. She was on her horse minutes later, racing down the road to Ivarstead. Days went by as she traveled, and whenever it rained or snowed, it took longer than she liked.

Nirael, tired and annoyed at the attack from bandits earlier that day, she almost snapped at a woman that merely bid her good day. Nodding instead, she rode into the small town of Ivarstead, and stopped at the inn there to get a drink. She never drank much, but a mead sounded as nice as a bed. She would stay just one night, then in the morning she would start the long climb. Her dreams were of the past. Of traveling to Cyrodil, and fleeing to Skyrim. True, the Nords still didn't care for any of the Elves, but she never wasted too much time in their cities.
Those that she would call her family found her, working as some low paid bodyguard to some Nord Noble. They told her she may not be paid, but they swore to her a better life than that of a servant of that which hated her kind. They treated her will all the respect of a greenhorn, but as time passed she learned. Nords, Bretons and even Argonians, they were treated equally.
She longed for those days now, her time with the Slayers, while being a part of a team, hadn't given her the closeness that she had with the others. The Orc Captain treated her well enough, but her father and the Master of her first home in Skyrim, she was true to.
They had all wished her luck before she left with her mission. Nirael, though loyal to her Master, did feel a bit guilty about when the time would come when she would have to take a side. Many of the Slayers meant well, but when the time came, she had little doubt they would regard her as a traitor.
One thing at a time. First, she would get some sleep, then travel to the Monastery. Then at last, maybe she could begin to fulfill her true duty.

In her dream she was in the library, looking at the scrolls. "Nervous?" The man's voice made Nirael jump, and she put the scroll down. "Master..." She looked to the floor. "Surely there's something else I could do better? Why me for this mission?"
The man smiled and took a seat beside her. His dark blonde hair was in braids, blue eyes peaking at the scroll she was reading. "More maps eh? The cities might have changed a bit since these were made." He scratched his chin.
"I chose you because you have great talents. My son as many others have had little time in the world outside our sanctuary. You know what it's like. You were here when my son was born, helped me raise the younglings. Time again, you have proven your loyalty to us, and our goal."
Nirael frowned. "You aren't the type to get caught up in things like politics, or the Slayers. You think things through, plan. I trust you to keep your vows." He put a hand on her shoulder.
"Moreover, when my wife was killed by outsiders, you held my son still. You saved him from a rash choice, even if he did hate you for it for months." He laughed.
Nirael set the scroll down and stood, hugging the man. "Helkan and you are the ones I hold dearest. You are like fathers to me... Despite my doubts, this is the only reason I will do this." The man held her back, then stood as well.
"Come you should get some rest. The others are hoping to spend some time with you tonight anyways. They'll miss you." They walked out of the library, down the stairs and into the large front room where Nirael's father and a few others had gathered. She didn't show much, but laughed with them, and when she left for bed, she cried for the first time in years.

The air was cold, like it always was, but the frost on the ground crunched beneath her feet with each step she took. Nirael had bundled up as much as she could stand, and took the path to the 7,000 steps with care.
An hour passed and she still didn't feel like she made much progress. But at least there were wolves to keep her busy. A couple spiders, and a bear too. The wind was harsh, nipping at any skin that wasn't covered as if she was being bitten by insects. She stopped a few times to warm her face, lighting a small fire. She was close now, she could tell by the offerings. They had dwindled greatly as she climbed, the pilgrims only lay coin and food so far up before they climbed back down.
----
Inga didn't get much sleep. By the time she got to Ivarstead, it was late afternoon. She slept for a few hours, then started her way up. She couldn't remember well the first time she took the steps up, but it seemed harder to her than last.
She made a crude camp with a small tent a couple times through the night, dozing off. It was near dawn when she could see the towering building. She had held back some emotions, but the sight of her old home made her cry out with joy. It had been too long.
Her tired legs moved on their own by now, her mind already ahead to where she would see the Monks again. At the door, she took in a breath, and pushed it open. A rush of warm air and the smell of incense welcomed her into the familiar atmosphere. Inside the fires were lit, as they always had been. The old grey stone was swept, the plants in the pots were the same as she remembered. Inga took off her cloak of furs and walked into the front area, looking around. It hadn't changed, but she didn't think it ever did.
"Dovahkiin." Inga turned to see Adil, and only a little surprised that she could recognize him from the distance. Like a child, she ran to him and embraced him. "Adil... I've missed you." She looked up as the others came in, one by one she smiled at them, until they were there with her.
But looking around, Inga didn't see one. "Inga," Adil started. "Where's Herlof?" She asked, parting from one of the female Monks. Her green eyes went from one to the next, seeing their faces fall. Adil stepped forward. None of the others spoke, their voices too powerful.
"Herlof... Has passed." He said. The dread she felt beforehand came back full force, her ears hearing it, but her mind didn't want to comprehend it. She must have been silent for a while, because one of them put a hand on her shoulder.
Herlof was dead. Inga shook her head. She knew he was old, but she had felt they all had more years to come. "You called me... For his burial..." She finally said, and bowed her head.
Adil made a pained face. "We called you back because the manner of his death." Inga looked back up. "What do you mean?" Adil motioned for her to follow him, and he led her outside, into the courtyard. There, before the steps that went up to the Throat of the World, was a grave marker. Inga felt sick. In front of the large fire pit, it was scrubbed down, the earth had been moved, like a quake had torn it.
The scene before her was off. There was something wrong. She turned back to Adil and the others for some kind of answer.
"Herlof was seeking wisdom on top of the mountain." Adil began. "It was there that he encountered the dragon. We heard the Shouting, the rumble of the mountain, but by the time we came out to see what was happening..." One of the women, Ran with the shaven head, put her head down.
"A dragon came at us, but Herlof held it back. Ran, ran up to help him, the dragon turning to her instead and knocked her down with its tail, then... Shouted. The earth came up in spires, and Herlof rushed towards her."
Inga couldn't understand it. A dragon attacked them? But the others that have followed... How could one attack here? She didn't like where it was going, the dread inside her rising again.
"The Shout..." Adil's face was painful. "Herlof took the Shout for her. We rose to Shout the dragon back, but it left right after. We did what we could for him, leveled the earth, cleaned his body for the burial... We called you back because we believe this was a direct attack on us."
Inga, as he spoke, couldn't help but imagine what had transpired there. Some dragon flying down to kill them, shouting the stone upwards and... Herlof, his body on the spires. She had known about the other dragons that accepted the Way of the Voice. She knew about them, but it still made her think to group them all together. It hadn't crossed her mind before. Dragons, even if some did follow their teachings, Inga found herself wanting to march up the steps and demand why this happened. It hurt. Thinking that a dragon assaulted the Monks, murdered Herlof, then leaving them to deal with the mess.
The dread was still there, but something boiled inside her both shocked and disgusted her. The anger that she had shown before while they taught her, came back. The pain of losing him to such an act only made it worse. She had stilled the anger before by training, but her blade wasn't enough. Inga did the only thing she could do then, putting all her pain and sadness into it, she screamed.
Her voice, with the years of training in the Thu'um, made the ground rumble, and the air almost vibrate. She didn't care what happened outside her grief. What Ivarstead was going through, or the pilgrims on the path upward.
All she could think of was that she lost one parent years ago to a dragon, and now she had lost another. She had never tried to use her Voice in full force before, this was the first time Inga had witnessed the Thu'um and the power it had.
Somewhere in her shouting, one of the Monks managed to make it to her and held her, making her voice waver. Instead she merely sobbed until she ran out of energy to make any sort of sound. Inga then lay there, exhausted. Thinking if she had come back sooner, to even just visit, she may have caught the attack and been able to do something. Anything. She was right.
It had been too long.