The Divines are fickle. One minute you were racing toward the border into Hammerfell on a stolen horse, with glimmering hopes of a new life. You were going to turn things around. No more gambling. No more thieving. You were going to become a respectable Nord. Instead, you find yourself clapped in irons, not for the horse you stole, nor for the debts you've left unpaid, but for a rebellion you were never a part of.

Ulfric Stormcloak, THE Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of that same damned rebellion, just told you to take heart and have courage, but at sight of the executioner's massive ax, your nerve fails you. You make a run for it, somehow managing to pull away from the guard attending you.

The captain does not bother sending someone on a chase. He gestures to another guard wielding a bow to fire. You were going to be executed anyway, it makes no difference if it's by ax or arrow.

You make it as far as the eastern gate when pain explodes from your right shoulder. The guard, having missed your heart, clicks his tongue, and lines up for another shot.

But he never gets the chance to loose it because just then something completely impossible happens. A dragon, an actual, flying, fire-breathing dragon, appears overhead and begins burning Helgen to the ground.

You don't stick around to witness the carnage, you hightail it as fast as your legs (and your wound) will allow. Through the eastern road, south until you come to a fork and the sound of the fighting and the burning and the screaming begins to fade.

>Keep running, you need to make tracks before more Imperials show up
>Look around for a place to hide until the hubbub dies down
>Tend to your wound before it worsens further
>Write-in