Prologue - There be dragons

by MadGenuis

Chapter 1 � What makes a Dragonborn

�Take me with you, Dragonborn!�

�Please, throw us some coin! We need it!�

�You killed my nephew, you fetcher! Don�t you have any mercy?�

�Marry me!�

�Go home, damn milk-drinker! Anyone could do what you do!�

�Please, Dragonborn!�

�Dragonborn!�

�Dragonborn!�

Shut up, shut up, shut up... Nahlot uv oblaan. The Dragonborn rubbed his temples with his fingers, squeezing his eyes shut as he continued to walk forward, ignoring the insults, curses and pleas of the several dozen people that had gathered. How word managed to get around as quickly as it did he would never know, but somehow, for some reason, people always seemed to swarm to him whenever he got close to a settlement. That was one of the main reasons he had decided to settle in an abandoned fortress in the middle of nowhere, since even though he owned estates in every hold in Skyrim, he could never get any peace there.

Every now and then, though, he did still go to the cities, as he had done today, in order to do one favor or another for one of the jarls, or to ensure the continued success of one of the organisations he was a member of.

This time he had received a request from both Balgruuf on behalf of Whiterun, and Aela for the sake of the Companions. Doing the jarl�s bidding was something the Dragonborn only ever did in dire times, since he did not want the other jarls to think he was playing favorites � and he may even have helped Whiterun this time anyways, simply due to the nature of the request alone � but the Companions were another story. When things were bad enough for the Companions � Aela in particular � to ask for help, their Harbinger knew to take it seriously. After all, if a bunch of bloodthirsty warriors who lived primarily for fighting were given pause by a threat, it seemed rather probable that it represented a real danger.

To them, of course; to the Dragonborn, there were very few circumstances that could actually pose a danger. That was why he always instructed the guards of the hold � and this time the members of the Companions as well � to stay away, and left his hired mercenaries back at his fortress to stand guard.

The civilians gathered here would follow him to watch, and he was not even going to try to convince them to leave. They would keep their distance, and with him there, the opposition really could not affort to let itself be distracted.

The issue at hand was that a bunch of giants apparently had banded together � possibly as a result of large numbers of them being hunted down for bounties � and were now ravaging the area surrounding Whiterun. The Dragonborn was dressed for the occasion, having opted to wear a full set of enchanted daedric armor, with one of his favorite curiosities on his back: the Bloodskal Blade. He had argued a little with himself on whether to bring a bowand pick off a few giants from a distance before engaging them in melee, but he had ultimately decided not to; sniping monsters with arrows, while immensely satisfying, just did not impress ordinary people as much as a show of brute power did.

His footfalls rang out audibly as he marched down the cobbled road, the black tainted ebony of the daedric boots clattering and scraping noisily against the cobblestone. The Dragonborn made no attempt to mask his approach, nor did he give off the impression of being in a hurry; he simply walked forward calmly, even as he got closer to the billowing columns of smoke that marked the camp of the giants.

Rounding a hill was all it took for the camp to come into view, and there the Dragonborn paused, taking a moment to look over the area and note where everything was. Twenty-three giants and a herd of fifteen mammoths... it was certainly the largest gathering of either species he had ever seen. Their camp had been established with a large rock at its center, which had been painted as the giants often did, and there were baskets of mammoth cheese everywhere. He could smell the cheese even from here, still a hundred yards away from the outer perimeter of the camp... actually, he could smell the giants as well. He was not entirely sure which scent was more revolting, but considering the context he figured it was probably that of the giants.

He continued walking, now only faintly aware of the crowd of civilians following him. The sound of his footsteps was much less audible now, walking on grass and a carpet of moss on top of regular soil, but the noise his armor made just by having the joints scrape and grind against one another was still quite noticeable, and it was not too long before the a giant called out to alert the tribe to his approach.

The giants charged at him, and even as the Dragonborn slowly walked forth to meet them, cracking his knuckles and neck intimidatingly as he went, he sensed how his heartbeat grew steadier, heavier, stronger; not a human heartbeat quickening with adrenaline, but feeling as though it was something that belonged in a creature much larger than himself, one who had the time to wait for another gargantuan pulse of blood to be pumped through its veins.

He smiled to himself, pushing aside concerns of how his changing heartbeat indicated that he had removed himself even further from his human origins. This many giants... perhaps this could be a challenge to him, even now.

A lumbering bearded monstrosity stomped its foot down with enough force to crush an ox, but the Dragonborn had already darted out of the way, shockingly nimble even in the heavy daedric armor. The boom of the giant�s clumsy attempt to kill him was loud enough to deafen the man momentarily, but he would presume that the civilians were gasping in delight further back; they loved close calls.

Crafted from a small uprooted tree and a small boulder, as all giants� clubs seemed to be, the monster�s weapon came crashing down towards the Dragonborn�s head as soon as the giant recovered enough to do so. The Dragonborn smiled.

�Zun haal viik!� he barked, the force of the Thu�um staggering the giant like a blow in the chest, and as the beast stumbled backwards, its club fell to the ground. The Dragonborn dashed forward as it did, swiftly seizing the unwieldily heavy weapon with his left hand, and flung it into its owner�s chest, striking it hard enough to immediately topple the poor guy and leave him gasping for air on the ground.

The Dragonborn grasped the club with both hands, quickly swiveled the weapon over his head and then threw it towards the approaching march of giants, hitting one of them in the face and causing the unfortunate fellow to crumble nervelessly.

�Come on!� he roared his challenge, brandishing his sword with a flourish as he grinned broadly at the grand creatures witlessly running to meet their end at his hand. He took a step forward as another giant came within ten or so feet of him, pausing for just a second to let the innate magic of the Bloodskal Blade well up along its edges, causing the blade of the sword to burn with a deep red glow of its own. When the weapon was swung and the charged energy unleashed, the giant was struck by the twin impact of the blast rapidly followed by the cutting edge.

With the two first giants to fall, one could think that they had survived; indeed, the one clubbed in the chest with his own weapon appeared to still be moving. This one, however, was unquestionably dead, practically torn in half by the sword of the Dragonborn.

The grin never left his face as he pressed onward, sparing no thought of mercy for the giants as he dispatched them one after another, each of them being vanquished effortlessly. He spilled blood, severed limbs and crushed bone, all while savoring the sweetness of combat, of facing an enemy that � though far from worthy of him � was powerful enough to strike fear into the hearts of lesser men.

He felt the power flowing through him, filling him, bringing an elation to him that he had found no other way to achieve. �Is that all you�ve got?� he mocked them, only halfway for the benefit of the civilian spectators. He laughed as another one fell like wheat to a scythe, and the few remaining giants actually halted, hesitant to face the man who had killed so many of their brethren.

�Come on!� he bellowed, throwing his arms wide, showing his absolute confidence by dropping his guard. �Come on! Can�t you do any better than that?�

The giants looked at each other with eyes full of doubt and fear; even these simple creatures were starting to realize that even if they possessed the brute strength to club a dragon to death and their blows delivered enough power to send their victims skyward upon smashing them, they were no match for this man.

And so they turned, attempting to flee from the battlefield. The Dragonborn was not about to allow that.

He took a deep breath, and imagined that he could almost see the civilians before his inner eye, anticipating what was coming and smiling with glee to be able to witness it. The dragon-blood burned within him, its power feeling like molten magma in his veins, hot and enormous as the sun itself.

�Fus ro dah!� His voice had the volume of thunder, and the shock wave of Unrelenting Force was so powerful that it peeled off the top layer of soil and dirt in its path, digging a shallow ditch in its wake accumulating in a heap where it dissipated. The giants rode the wave when it hit, were carried through the air like leaves on the wind and ultimately propelled into the distance, their arms and legs flailing helplessly as they were thrown in a fashion normally reserved for smaller beings.

Of course the Dragonborn, on the inside, was far bigger than any giant.

Than anything.

Bolog us zu�u, jorre. Bolog fah hin lahney.

He turned around while still grinning, his armor drenched in blood of which none was his own, and looked at the townspeople from Whiterun assembled back at the turn he had taken earlier. They certainly stared at him with evident awe, several of them holding their hands to their mouths in sheer amazement, and some even averting their gaze from �

No, it that not admiration he was seeing, he realized as his grin rapidly shrunk. These people were... many of them seemed afraid of him, more so than they had been of the giants. Some seemed disgusted with what he had done, yet others appalled, and only then did his human mind catch up to the reptilian instincts that had driven him over the past few minutes. How he had humiliated each giant unnecessarily, before and after their death, and paid no mind to desecrating their corpses; how he had not even taken a second to consider, but heartlessly finished off the wounded when he came upon them; how he had just sent the last few survivors hurtling through the air, likely to plummet to a sudden and crippling encounter with the ground, if they even survived.

He had killed all those giants with laughable ease, which was fine in and by itself, but he had actually been laughing while doing it. Something was wrong with him! There was something seriously �

Kos dovah, sahlo joor.

A mighty throb of his beating heart, ponderously slow but burning with otherworldly strength, pressed against the inside of the Dragonborn�s rib cage, causing an expansion so great that one would have been able to see it, had he not been wearing armor. Something ancient and powerful within him chased away the doubt, fear and disgust he had felt for himself, and revived the sinister confidence and arrogance he had felt while fighting the giants. The smile returned to his lips.

Who cared what these puny mortals thought of him? They were nobody. Nothing. Even if all of them were to be wiped off the face of Tamriel, erased from the history of Nirn altogether, nothing would change. He was the Dragonborn, the most powerful vessel of a dragon�s soul that had ever been; not only did these people owe him their lives � indeed, they owed him their entire world � but even if they had not been eternally indebted to him already, there was no one who could stop him from doing as he wished, taking what he wanted... They were barely even alive, just fickle things stuck in a brief moment in the flow of time he now sailed without end.

Nust aan.

Two of the citizens over there caught the Dragonborn�s eye, causing his smile to grow even wider and transform into a malicious grin. They were Nord women, neither appeared to be a day over twenty years old, and could not weight significantly more than a hundred and thirty pounds. Not very tall, but one had a bulging bosom that just begged to be fondled and abused, and both of them had such enticingly gentle curves to their hips. One had loose brown hair, the other was blond with hers in a ponytail... he could not tell the details of their appearance from this distance, but he was certain that both of them were quite attractive.

Paarthurnax wanted him to breed the mortals to sire new Dragonborn, new daughters that would live only to service him and bear him yet more daughters? He knew the Shout, and he had two appealing candidates to bear him offspring right there.

His heart pounded again, painfully powerful in a body that was not built for it, even as the glowing ephemeral scales began to spring into pseudo-existence on his hands and up his arms, forming a magical protective shell outside his armor as he unconsciously invoked the Dragon Aspect, not through a Shout, but through sheer likeness to a dragon.

I am the Dragonborn, he thought arrogantly, feeling his hardness strain uncomfortably against the unyielding interior of his armor, and they should serve me. These women should be grateful for his interest and eager to carry his progeny! It was their fate � the purpose they were born for � to get on their knees before him with open arms, open mouths and open legs, ready to receive his seed. He would take them with him, fuck them every day and make sure not a minute went by of the rest of their lives during which they were not pregnant with his daughters.

And what if they refused? They were just mortals, and he was the Dragonborn; they were inherently incapable of refusing him. He could force them to do whatever he wanted with ease, and kill anyone who tried to stop him.

The women � along with the rest of the citizens of Whiterun, he realized a second later � fled, and he felt his leg-muscles grow tense in anticipation of the hunt... it was only then that he realized that he had been walking towards them this entire time, and that the Dragon Aspect had almost completely enveloped him. Inhuman strength filled him to such an extent that knew that nothing � literally nothing � could stand in his way.

Zu�u jun do rah ahrk dovah.

That is not who I am! What is this? Why is this happening? I never wanted this... but my thoughts...

Ofaal vahzen.

The Words of Power keep booming in my head... stronger and stronger, the stronger I get. I remember: to learn a Shout is to become the Shout, to receive its essence and include its nature in one�s soul. My soul... all those dragon souls. And...

Ofaal mulaag.

I�m losing myself. I decided, back then, that it was the purpose of the Dragonborn to protect and serve the populace, yet here I am contemplating raping and murdering them! To be Dragonborn is not just to be strong, not just about saving the world, it�s...

Kos Dovahkiin. Kos jun. Kos rah.

But almost everyone, ever since Alduin�s return ten years ago... That is all I have been, is it not? Everything has been for that. I am the Dragonborn, the thane, the Guild Master, the Archmage, the Listener, the Harbinger... and so many other titles. It has all been about my abilities for so long, about my power, I almost forgot...

Qahnaar sahlo.

It has been years since... anyone last called me by name...

Qahnaar sahlo!

No... I am not just the Dragonborn, nor any number of titles. I�m a person, the same person I was before.

Qahnaar zah!

I am not Alduin or Miraak. I am more. I am me.

Nid!

I am Rigmard.

Even as his feet stopped moving and the grin vanished from his face, the glowing aura of the Dragon Aspect dissipated before it had yet finished fully manifesting, leaving Rigmard the Dragonborn once more in his comparatively mundane daedric armor, feeling extraordinarily weak compared to the awesome might he had just been possessed by... and with a racing heartbeat, drumming rapidly and desperately, as it was supposed to.

Groaning, he stumbled and fell to his knees, his skin feeling extremely, painfully hot... and he smiled a genuine smile for the first time in years. He felt exhausted, weak and sore, he was drenched in blood and sweat and he smelled horrible, but damn, he had not been so satisfied with himself in what seemed like most of his life. In a way, this victory felt more significant than that over Alduin.

�I am Rigmard,� he muttered under his breath, a feeling of immense joy overcoming him upon hearing his name spoken out loud, even by himself. �I am Rigmard, not just the Dragonborn. I�ve been the Dragonborn for so long, I almost forgot.�

Despite himself, he found that he was laughing. Just how messed up was that? He had barely even spared a thought for what he wanted to do over the past decade, just because he had been so preoccupied with what everyone else expected him to do. Save the world over and over, Dragonborn, as is your duty; well, he had done that, and he had spent every waking moment since receiving that duty preparing himself to fulfill it, throwing himself into danger time and time again to learn mastery in the skills and obtain the treasures that would enable him to stand victorious when the odds were the bleakest.

Surely that was not all the Dragonborn was, though. There had to be more to his destiny than to simply let himself be consumed by the power he had needed to save the world...

That was a fair point, actually, he realized as his laughter stilled; why had he lost control just now? For a decade he had been learning the Words of Power and digested dragon souls for all of their ancient experiences and wisdom, so why did the dragon within him suddenly affect him so strongly?

The answer to that question was also grimly apparent, though... all the Dragonborn had to do was to turn his attention to the erection still crammed painfully against the inside of his armor.

�The Sire Dragonborn-shout,� he muttered under his breath, realizing only now the significance of having learned that particular Shout. �Paarthurnax, you bastard... you tricked me.� Other Shouts had worked to enhance the rage he felt when he entered combat, or worked to numb him to the suffering of those he fought and defeated, but overall none of them had a particularly noticeable effect on him outside of combat, aside from making him more impatient and arrogant.

But Sire Dragonborn had one purpose, and that one purpose had nothing to do with fighting. The desire to procreate � the instinctual lust to do so � it was something that naturally lived in all mortals... and Sire Dragonborn enhanced that with the intensity of dragon souls.

Groaning from sheer sexual need, Rigmard urgently stripped undid the cuisses and pelvic region of his armor, letting his thick, pale seven-inch engorged member flop into the cold Skyrim air, only barely controlling himself enough to take off one daedric gauntlet before reaching down and masturbating furiously while still on his knees in the dirt.

The skin of his rough, calloused hand was like sandpaper around his dick, yet it each stroke sent jolts of intense pleasure through his urgently aroused body, causing him to grunt and growl deep in his throat like a rutting beast, driven into a frenzy by the extreme increase of his libido.

�By the Nine!� he moaned, overwhelmed by the need for release. This had never happened to him before, but he quite literally could not think about anything but sex.

Obviously this was not the first time Rigmard had masturbated in his thirty years, ten of which had introduced him to some of the most depraved and uninhibited cultures of Tamriel during his travels; truth be told he had probably averaged rubbing one out at least twice a day. How could it be any different when one was constantly faced with near-death experiences, events that proved his power and superiority and, in the Reach in particular, regularly ambushed by scantily clad bandits and Forsworn raiders? But it had always been a matter of him wanting to wank... unlike now, when he felt decidedly as though he needed to.

In his mind, Rigmard � distressed and frightened of this new urgent desire of his � imagined what would have happened if he had not managed to stop himself just before. With the way he had been fixated on those two Nord girls, there was no way he would have allowed them to escape, and no way they could have gotten away from him; among other things, he was probably the best sprinter in Skyrim. He would have captured both of them, torn their clothes off with no regard for whether they were ripped or shredded in the process, and thrown them to the ground.

He imagined jumping on top of the buxom brunette, taking her big, squeezable breasts in his hands, biting her nipples until she screamed in pain and pleasure, and only then would he bury himself in her depths, nuzzling her cleavage as he savagely drove into her. He imagined that she would try to push him away with her hands and legs, to stop him, but he knew that her efforts would only have egged him on, fueling his confidence by proving to him that he was far too strong to be stopped. Her nails would rake on his back, but barely do anything than add a stinging edge to his bliss.

It was hard to imagine how tight she would be, but he tightened his grip around his member nevertheless, thrusting himself into the hand that in his mind was a deliciously welcoming pussy, eagerly swallowing his length even as the person it was attached to fought to resist him.

The fair blonde girl would be so entranced by seeing her friend � or cousin, perhaps? Or sister? - ravished so that she would not even think to get up and flee, but simply stare in fascination and wait her turn. Once the Dragonborn got to her, with most of his frenzy draining from his first orgasm, he would turn his attention to her, throw himself at her, thus leaving her dazed sister on the ground with semen pooling between her thighs.

With this girl he would have grabbed her wrists and forced them upwards and backwards, flattening her helplessly on the ground as he lay on top of her, hungrily pressing his lips against hers, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She would be so aroused from this treatment, and from seeing her sister so thoroughly fucked, she would willingly spread her legs for him. No, more than that! She would wrap her legs around his waist, pulling him towards her and trying to stop him from pulling away.

He could almost feel her silken skin against him and smell her scent, but he knew that he would still be too lost in his lust to be gentle with her. He would rut into her, too � she would be even tighter than the other one, he imagined � until she cried out the names of the Divines, begging him never to stop fucking her.

And later, after he had taken them back to his fortress to live as his personal cumdumpsters, the first in his harem, their tummies would start to round and swell, evidence of the life he had sired inside them. Daughters, he knew, that would inevitably grow up to join his harem...

He threw back his head and roared mightily, a noise only made all the more inhuman by the distortion of the helmet he was still wearing, as he felt the thrill of his climax overtake him. He felt the pressure traveling up his dick and braced for the explosion of pleasure that was about to hit him. He humped his hand frantically, pressing his pelvis into it as hard as he could in an instinctual effort to deposit his seed as deep into his partner as he could.

The world actually turned white before Rigmard�s eyes for a moment when the orgasm reached its peak, and stars danced before his vision as his entire body trembled, muscles clenching spasmodically as several spurts of semen splattered over the ground. In his fantasy-version of him capturing and raping the Nord girls, he had produced a load worthy of a dragon, so big that by the end of it, both of the girls� bellies had been bulging visibly, inflated by his cum.

In reality, when he looked down after coming back down from the heights of pleasure, there were just three or four spoonfuls; a decidedly human quantity. He did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed that he was not pumping out the stuff by the gallons, but after imagining his descent into depravity, it seemed strikingly underwhelming.

And then, once the euphoria of his orgasm had passed, the full force of what had just happened hit Rigmard. Part of him was ashamed of his lack of restraint, part of him was horrified at the fantasies he had lost himself in, but most of him was downright petrified at the thought that this new, powerful urge was something implanted in him through the Words of Power, and something he could never get rid of. Right now, while still somewhat satisfied, he was in control... but inevitably the need to breed would overwhelm him again and again, wiping his mind of compassion and reason alike and reducing him to a state like the one he had been in just before, or worse. His only chance, as he saw it, was to ensure that his desire never grew that strong... which meant even more frequent masturbation than what he was used to.

Mulling over this issue, trying to come to terms with this curse that had been put on him, Rigmard dressed himself and went on his way back to his fortress in the northern Rift. But there was no other solution, was there? He simply had to handle his lust preemptively, or he would be driven into a frenzy again.

Upon returning home, however, it turned out that there were other things that demanded his attention... more urgent things, the kind of which the Dragonborn had never even considered a possibility.

Together with Jenassa, Vorstag and Erik waited a fourth person: a male Nord the kind of which he had met many times over the course of his years in Skyrim. Rigmard even recognized this one, as he had learned to do with most of the couriers he regularly received letters from, and whom he used to send letters himself. Being approached by couriers had become commonplace for him, but one had never braved the wilderness to find him away from the safety of guards and walls. On top of that, Jenassa seemed worried... which was usually a good hint that something major was wrong.

�What is it?� the Dragonborn asked, taking off his helmet to look back and forth between Jenassa and the courier.

�I was told to find you quickly,� the courier whimpered, his tone decidedly apologetic, �and I got here as quickly as I could; it�s taken less than a day, but I-I ��

Jenassa silenced him with a gesture. �I read the letter, sera, since it was urgent. It�s from another challenger, wanting to come meet him or her at some ruins to the south, alone and unarmed. He wants you to face execution.�

Rigmard frowned, uncertain how to react to this. �And why would I do that?�

Jenassa lowered her gaze, unable to look him in the eye, which immediately frightened him; she was not exactly the empathetic sort. �He... they claim to hold your mother hostage, sera.�