〜Chapter 1〜 “The best techniques are passed on by the survivors” - Gaiden Shinji “Ay! You! You’re finally awake! Walked right into that ambush of the Sheriff!” Through his squinting eyes, Aeson found a mighty Tamriel sun shining and blurring his vision, the first sight to greet him since… well, he could not recall. He swung his head with a lull as he turned his head towards the source of the voice. An Outlaw, obviously, from his mark on his forehead, a bright red flash of a pair of wings among his tanned skin. The man spoke again, in a familiar tone. “Took you a while eh? They gotcha at the skirmish. You stood no damn chance. Listen, the name’s Toast, leader of the Outlaw rebellion, as I’m sure you’ve heard of already. The rest of the loyal warriors in this wagon are recognizable to me, but you… who are you?” Toast asked in a curious and slightly sly tone. A bump sent Aeson colliding into the Nord next to him, a burly man set in binds just like his companions. The Nord sent him an icy gaze as he quickly repositioned himself in the wagon. “Oh, that’s Jager. Quite feisty, not fun, don’t get on his bad side this early on. Don’t want Lee to work overtime cleaning up some…. Mess,” Toast voiced as he snickered. “Lee? Who’s Lee?” Aeson questioned in a dulled tone. “Ah, but you haven’t answered my question!” Toast responded with slight enthusiasm. With a slight moment of hesitation, Aeson let loose a response. “I… can’t recall…,” He said with a slightly worried tongue. “Shame. I assume you’re from Valenwood at least, being a wood elf and all? Fancy the bow?” Toast pushed on as his curious red eyes began to gleam. “Uh… yea… I think I remember being a kicker for archery…,” Aeson slurred as his lips desired to stay shut. Looking down at his hands, he noticed a few scars… scars that he could somewhat remember. Gazing at them brought him to a different world… almost a different person… “I fancy destruction magic myself. Y’know that Sheriff’s a real fan of archery himself, fancying the crossbow of course… You listenin’?” Toast droned on as Aeson delved into thought. “Huh? Oh! Yea! Just wonderin’ about… stuff,” Aeson spoke through a clearer voice. “Best that you don’t,” Toast whispered so that the response would become nothing but a wind’s hush to Aeson. The wagon came to a stop, and the prisoners stumbled all over the carriage, the sudden absence of motion sending them standing to regain their stance. Shortly after, each prisoner found their balance and stood steadily on top of the carriage, until one of the Sheriff’s officers signaled them off. Slowly and with hesitation, each one of the Outlaws climbed out. Whether some unique few were Outlaws or not did not matter; they were all equal in the eyes of death. Aeson stood shivering in the Skyrim cold as he took a look around him, panning the huge fort that surrounded him. Watchtowers sat perched atop huge stone buildings, and Ninjas lined the rows of structures like books on a shelf. “Ahhh… good old Sierra Madre. I pulled a heist on this place once y’know. Helluva fun time it was,” Toast spoke as he took in an elongated breath. “Fall in line prisoners! First wagon to the front!,” An officer yelled as he signaled the way with a gleaming shortsword. “Shit mate. We’re up first. You’ve said your prayers to the divines right?” Toast whispered to his new acquaintance. Aeson simply shook his head, a motion which was not seen by Toaster, as he made his way to the chopping block. An Outlaw stood directly in front of him, the first of many to become devoured by death on this dreadful day. He was fair in tone, a mighty Nord who visibly bore the scars with war with honor, and his hair a sandy tuft atop an oval for a head. Slowly, he walked towards the executioner, eyeing his axe with a slight lust. “Give them their blessings!” The command was addressed to a rather young female priest standing near the guards. Aeson had a feeling that the priest didn’t volunteer to come here, from the face she held, a face of disgust as the Outlaws slowly walked past her. She was nothing more than a mercenary. The Captain of the Guard began to detach himself from a nearby squadron of foot soldiers as he stood near the priest. His name was known to everyone: Beptiotus the Ever-lasting, but nicknamed Beep to keep those who were unaware of his presence at a low profile; That is, until those who knew him as “Beep” met him face-to-face. One utterment of his coined popular name would send anyone to Sovngarde before Talos could bid them a welcoming to such a place of honor. “Attention filthy Outlaws!” Beptiotus spoke, his voice sending any remnants of sound present in the air to an abrupt halt, “Step up in the order whence you came in! Starting with this line here!” Beptiotus pointed a finger at Aeson’s row, and a cry of fury arose from the Outlaws with the extension of that very finger. “The Empire will fall!” “The Outlaws will prevail!” Such were the chants that were lifted into the air, cries of enthusiasm and unrivaled loyalty. It was surprising to Aeson: for a group that was to face their death, they held enthusiasm, even in the eyes of the un-making. Beptiotus made his stride towards the Outlaw in front of Aeson, and with a gesture towards the priest, he ordered the Prayer of Bernthal to be recited. “As we commend your souls to Bernthal, blessings of the Eight divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Skyrim, our beloved…” “For the love of Da’amagius, shut up, and let’s get this over with…,” the Outlaw interrupted as the priest shot a glance of icy intention. The lad swiftly made his way next to the executioner, who was eager to send the souls to Sov’n’garde, and laid his head onto the chopping block, awaiting the command. Beptiotus nodded through teary eyes, which was unusual for a man of his position. The axe fell without haste upon the Outlaw’s head, and Aeson closed his eyes, not wishing to see the beheaded body of the Outlaw. He could hear the strike of the axe, and that was graphic enough for him. “As fearless in death as he was in life…,” Toaster whispered below his breath as he witnessed the loss of one of his men. “Next prisoner…,” Beptiotus spoke, and at that moment, Aeson walked up to the executioner while keeping his eyes veered away from the former Outlaw’s body and detached head. He dropped to his knees, and laid his head sideways atop the block. He let his eyes close themselves once again and awaited the silent command. However, silent was not the right word to describe what would happen next.