FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

*See Intro

So, as it turns out, the only clothes they could spare were a pair of ragged trousers, held up with a string. I'm not complaining though, it covers what it needs to.

After that unfortunate confrontation, they were pretty nice to me. The archer's name was Ralof. He has blue eyes and long blonde hair. Despite him shooting at me, we became fast friends. He told me that I'm in a province called Skyrim, home of a race called Nords. They're really just humans with a great sense of honor and nationality. Because of that, they dislike any other race, including mine. While Ralof and I became friends, everyone else avoided me entirely. Anyone who did talk to me, though, called me Bolt, on account of my lightning bolt shaped stripes. I told Ralof that I have no memory, but he didn't know what I should do. It's than I asked him if he knows what I am.

"What do you mean you don't know what I am!?"

"I mean I've never seen anything like you before." Ralof and I are in his tent, looking over a book of races in Tamriel (which is the name of the continent). "You seem like you would be related to the Khajiit," he says, pointing to a picture of a cat-like biped, "but I'm not sure. The only Khajiit in Skyrim are the ones who operate the trading caravans. Their homeland is Elsweyr."

"Else-where?"

"No, E-l-s-w-e-y-r. Elsweyr. It's on the other side of Tamriel."

At that moment a man walks in to the tent.

"Ralof," he says, "Ulfric needs to speak to you. You'd better come too." he adds motioning to me.

Than he's gone. Ralof and I share a quick glance, than follow.

Ulfric is standing near the fire in the center of camp. He has long dark hair and is well built. I haven't met him yet, but he seems important.

"Ah, there you are Ralof. And I presume this is Bolt?"

"Yes sir." Came Ralof's reply, "Bolt, I'd like you to meet Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and the leader of the rebellion."

That catches me off guard.

"Wait, what rebellion?"

Ulfric spoke next. "Ralof, you didn't even mention the war?"

"Oh, must've slipped my mind." He says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I guess now is as good a time as any." Ulfric continued, "Skyrim is at war. The current rulers were just treating everyone unfairly at first. Than during the Oblivion Crisis-"

"What was the Oblivion Crisis?" I interrupt.

"It's a long story, but in the end, the Empire signed a treaty stating that we Nords can't worship Talos, our god. Most people stood by and accepted their fate, but the others who didn't rebelled. They-we-are called the Stormcloaks. Not too long ago, I deiced I've had enough of our so called ruler and did away with him. I used an ancient power called the Thu'um."

"Hold on, I have so many questions-"

"They will have to wait." He interrupts, "For now I need an answer."

"Answer?"

"Yes; are you an Imperial, or a Stormcloak? Be aware, whatever you choose, you are expected to serve the cause you have chosen and defend it with your life. You do not have to answer immediately. I will give you until sunset tonight to think it over. By then I expect an answer. If you choose to side with us, you are welcome to stay as long as you wish. However, if you side with the Imperials, or if you don't give an answer at all, you will be removed from this and all other Stormcloak camps. The only reason we would let you live at all is because you have only recently learned about the war. Even so, I cannot risk a potential trader in our midst. You have until sunset."

My jaw hits the dirt.

"What am I going to DO?!" I shout at the sky, hoping for an answer. I've left the camp for a nearby cliff, thinking about what to do. The logical action would be to side with the Stormcloaks. They've already fed, clothed, and sheltered me for a while now, but I don't know if I want to join their cause. I've been out here trying to think of an answer for hours now without success.

Ugh... This SUCKS! I think to myself, Maybe I can ask Ulfric for some extra time or an alternative choice. I decide upon this, and head back to camp.

This whole ordeal has turned my mood sour. I feel angry at pretty much everything. And when I think nothing can get worse, a little girl walks up to me. She looks no more than four or five with curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She tries to look tough.

"I'm not afraid of you." She says. Her playful voice betrays her tough act.

This statement, for some reason, strikes me as odd. So I try something.

"Oh, yeah?" I spread my wings, pull my lips back in a snarl, and try to look as menacing as possible. To top it all off, I spring forward with a loud "RRRROOOOAAAARRRR!" She just looks at me and... pats me on the head.

"Funny puppy." She says with a giggle.

Than I realize what I found odd about this girl; she was the first person who wasn't terrified of me at first sight. I suddenly feel much better.

I get back to camp and find Ulfric in his tent.

"Jarl Ulfric, I need to have a word with you" I say.

"Ah," he says, "Have you made your decision?"

"Not exactly. I-"

Just then, someone bursts into the tent, yelling "Jarl Ulfric!"

"What is it?"

"Vanessa's daughter has been taken by a troll! It was last seen near the cliff south of camp. No one is able to catch it."

I was just south of the camp.

I'm out the door before I know it.

I'm running on all fours. I didn't try to; it just happened. All my senses are heightened. I caught the scent of troll-a mixture of mud and rotting flesh-and have been chasing it for an hour now. Everyone I pass screams and runs, but I don't care.

I need to save the girl.

I run up on an abandoned farm. Wheat and cabbage are rotting everywhere. I start to hear the girl crying. The scent of the troll is getting stronger. I spot it in a hole on the side of the destroyed house. It's a cave-like hole with a roof kept up with sticks and patches of fabric. I see the girl still alive in the troll's arms, flailing and crying, trying to break free. I see an old scythe on the ground to my right, next to a pile of bones. I snatch it as I run by and throw it as hard as I can at the troll. It spins end over end and sinks deep into its skull with a dull thunk. It's dead before it hits the ground.

The girl stifles a scream as I run up to her, and I get worried she'll run. A look of recognition crosses her face and she jumps into my arms, crying "Good puppy" over and over.

I walk back to camp with her in my arms. She's stopped crying, but still looks shaken.

"It's okay," I say in a soft voice, "you're safe now."

She presses her face into the crook of my neck. My shoulder starts to feel wet and I can tell she's crying again.

"Unless you like the smell of wet dog, I'd suggest putting a stop to the waterworks." I say, and she laughs. I'm glad I could make her feel better. We're almost at camp now.

No amount of jokes can help the scene we find.

Carnage everywhere. The camp is a wreck; the tents are either torn apart or burning. There are people wearing uniforms and similar helmets beating and tying up every one I have known these past few weeks. A few of them look at me, but before I can run, something hits me in the back of my head. My world goes black.