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Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy May 4 2013, 04:41 AM

Brief Intro By The Author

A Question of Fate would be the title of my piece.

I have been back and forth about trying to start and post a fan fic piece. The idea has always intrigued me, but I never considered myself to be a writer, let alone a good writer. I have read a sampling of some of the works that are posted on this site, and quite frankly, it is intimidating. The material is amazing. I must say say that despite the intimidation, it is also inspiring. So I am willing to throw caution to the wind and go for it. There are a few provisos. I work for a living. Often times, the hours I work are long. There may be periods of dormancy in this thread. I will apologize in advance for that. Life outside the internet does have it's restrictions. Also, I am sure that there is an unspoken etiquette that states, "You read mine and comment, and I shall do the same". This is also where I could run into trouble, for the same reasons that there may be dormant periods in this thread. There are stories on this site that I could never hope to read all the way through, with triple digit page counts, while I try to keep posting my own story and work through everyday life. So, with all that being said, I will wait to start posting chapters until I get a sense of what the audience demands. Please let me know if I should start posting a fan fic piece, based on what you have just read.

Thanks.

EDIT - This was originally posted in "General Discussion"

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy May 4 2013, 04:45 AM

EDIT - This was the original response (and only response to date) to the original post in the "General Discussion" thread made by McB...

Hey there...*Waves*... ...

Dude, if you want to write something, go ahead... ...

Add to it when and if you can, but do so as you wish...I think the only timetable restriction is the polite, "We also have lives so posting a new piece three times a day is annoying" thing...That is, only post something a couple of times a week so everyone else can catch up with the other stories posted...

As for dormancy...I have a thread on page 3 that I will eventually get around to finishing, but hasn't been added to for 12 months... ...And is likely to be another 12 before I get to it again... ...

Write what you want to write, when you can...Post what you can, when you want...

It will be read...*Points finger of doom*...AND JUUUUUDGED!!!...*Cough*...No, sorry...and commented upon...And, as the bit in the fan-fic rules thing says..."We will be polite and nice about it." ...

It's polite to read thems that read and comment about yours, but not a requirement as such...Don't worry about catching up with the stories, they're not going anywhere... ...Maybe just jump on and follow from the latest episodes until you feel inspired enough to go through from the start...

I can sympathise with the long hours thing...Completely... ...

Aaaanyways, just enjoy writing...Don't worry about stuff...Just write...

And...Of course...Welcome!!...

(P.S. Have a mod move this to the fan-fic section )...

McB...

Posted by: McBadgere May 4 2013, 04:47 AM

Wise words...You listen to him... ...

*Applauds McB*...Fine fellow...

...

(Fair dues on bringing it over btw... ...)

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy May 4 2013, 04:52 AM

LOL...thanks man.

Posted by: mALX May 4 2013, 04:57 AM

Very excited to read what you have.

Almost everyone on here has jobs/children/school/etc - eating up our free time. Many of us have ended up balancing our reading out by supporting our own readers first, then branching out to the other stories as free time allows.

Most of the larger/longer stories have summaries available so you can catch up to where the storyline is and just begin reading the current chapters - on these "War and Peace" length stories it is a real help to get you quickly caught up to speed.

Good luck, and look forward to seeing your story!

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy May 4 2013, 05:39 AM

Thanks for the replies Malx and McB. I reckon I'll go for it. Obviously I would welcome any and all help, criticism, and comments...

I have always kept a journal. Not for posterity. Certainly my life to date would not have any major impact on merkind, or the rest of Nirn for that matter. I have always found writing to be somewhat therapeutic. It seems to keep my head clear and my mind focused. So…I write. My mother claimed I was using a quill before I could walk. She envisioned that I would become some great scholar and pen magnificent works of literature. Such was not to be the case, for I never became that scholar and she didn’t live long enough to see what I ultimately had become. I don’t know if she would approve of what her dear Valrimor did with his life, but I do hope she would not be too disappointed.

I never knew my father. All I do know is that he was a Nord and that he had left us while I was an infant, never to return. Mother always said he was a great man, and that I should never think less of him. She was sure that some ill event must have befallen him, or else he would have returned home long ago. She told me my name was a tribute to both homelands, Valenwood and Skyrim. I consider myself Bosmer, not Nord. This is simply because when one looks at me, Bosmer is what they see. True, I am a little taller and heavier than most Bosmeri. My skin is slightly less bronze, and my hair is much more blond than most of my kind. But I was raised by a Bosmer, as a Bosmer. I am writing this story with the hope that, in some way, this will fulfill my mother’s vision that her son may be an author. May she rest in Y’ffre’s warm embrace.

The story begins well before I was born. It was just over 120 years prior to my birth when the Thalmor took control of my ancestral homeland. My relatives, on my mother’s side, fled Valenwood as refugees during the Thalmor conquest. For most of this 4th Era, my family has been exiled from those wonderful forests of home. It seems that some of my distant ancestors did not leave their homes without a fight. My mother passed the story of my maternal lineage to me. The persecution of her forefathers for their refusal to bow to Thalmor rule has been forever etched into my heart and mind. Those stories still infuriate me to this very day.

For 70 years after Valenwood fell, all outside contact with the Thalmor ceased. The Gods only know what went on in my homeland during that time. The Thalmor reappeared shortly before the moons. Except that now they were the Aldmeri Dominion reborn. For another 70 years, The Dominion increased their power through plots and machinations, and finally attacked the Empire. They have all but subjugated the Empire completely. In my mother’s opinion, The Aldmeri had been a disgrace to merkind, and therefore, in my opinion as well. Why should mer attack men rather than live in harmony with them? Why should The Dominion persecute their fellow mer just because they don’t happen to agree with their philosophy? It pains my heart knowing that the Aldmeri capital lies within a homeland that I may never see. Because of this, we Bosmer are often assumed to be Thalmor agents. While some of my kind may very well be, rest assured that I most certainly am not! So the Empire was reduced to a mere puppet government of the Thalmor, performing whatever acts The Dominion required or requested. This was the state of affairs as I sat in Olav’s Tap and Tack, alone and friendless, downing the last of my mead. In that moment of mead-muzzy loneliness, I made the decision to journey to Skyrim. I could not help but feel a kinship with my father’s people, and a desire to see the lands of my paternal lineage. Perhaps I could even find family members from my father’s line.

Skyrim has remained one of the last bastions to be free from Aldmeri Dominion rule, though that may not last for long, thanks to the Empire. Rumors of the banned worship of Talos in Skyrim causing rebellion have reached my ears. I was not surprised that some Nords won’t stand for that. The climate would be cold, if it was anything like Bruma had been. I’ve heard tell that the forests of Skyrim were magnificent, and that thought does warm my heart. Cyrodiil held nothing for me any longer. The life of being a hired bow and occasionally resorting to petty thievery had become tiresome. I wanted to breathe the air of freedom before I retired to meet the Gods face to face. Perhaps I could hunt as I wish. Perhaps I could sleep under the pine boughs without fear of Thalmor oppression, or just as bad, Cyrodillic citizens that treated me as if I were one of the Aldmeri. Perhaps…

After purchasing a map and some provisions in Bruma, I headed north. I made sure to steer well clear of the ruins of Cloud Ruler Temple. The Thalmor maintain a garrison there to make sure any surviving Blades don’t return and try to reestablish their order. This meant traveling overland, through deep snow drifts and secluded mountain passes, but that was infinitely preferable to an Aldmeri blade any day. My provisions lasted long enough to get me through the Jerall Mountains, to the lower elevations of the north slope where I could hunt rabbit and deer. Then it was on to the forests of The Rift. My map was sketchy and, as it turns out, mostly incorrect. So I just continued northward, keeping a watchful eye and an alert nostril open for chimney smoke or a campfire. Both senses were rewarded on my second day in The Rift. It was well after sunset when I came across a military style camp situated near a river crossing. I decided to make a camp of my own nearby and wait until daylight to investigate. Not knowing if the encampment a couple hundred yards away was populated by friend or foe, I had to climb into my bedroll without the benefit of a fire or hot food in my belly.

It seemed like I had barely closed my eyes when I was startled out of my sleep by the sounds of battle. Yelling and the clash of steel on steel were coming from the direction of the encampment. I quickly rose and exited my tent…

CRACK!

…excruciating pain and a spinning field of lights…

…darkness.

EDIT - I fixed a math mistake. Since Valrimor is in his early 50's when he decides to go to Skyrim, the Thalmor conquest would be about 120 years prior to his birth, not 170.

Posted by: mALX May 4 2013, 06:32 AM

This is a very good beginning! You have really brought us into your character's mindset and strong personality in this short prologue - and managed to leave us hanging on a cliff at the end - very well done! Your editing is immaculate, a real pleasure to read!

Congrats on beginning your first fic, and welcome to the Fic forum and Chorrol!

Posted by: Grits May 4 2013, 12:24 PM

Welcome, SkyrimGuy! I’m so glad you decided to write Valrimor’s story and share it here. I’m enjoying it already.

Don’t worry about future pauses in your posting. Real life happens, and your story will still be here when you get back to it.

Posted by: treydog May 4 2013, 12:40 PM

First and foremost- WELCOME! We are glad to have you as part of our community.

The start is quite promising- although I must already disagree with you on one count- "...not a writer." Pfffft! The work you have just posted contradicts that assessment. You give us all the information we need to about Valrimor- we know his background, something of his views and skills, his hopes. And all of it is provided in a natural, smooth narrative style. Wonderful.

Posted by: McBadgere May 4 2013, 01:03 PM

Excellent stuff!!...

Brief run through history, both his personal and Tamriel's...

Brilliant start...Looking forward to more...

I award you your inaugural Nice one!!™...

And the hearty applause of the *Applauds heartily*...

...

(Welcome again!!)...

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy May 5 2013, 06:46 AM

First, I want to thank mALX, grits, treydog, and McBadgere for their very nice comments and compliments. You are all too kind. Second, I have decided to jump to Chapter 2 and rename it Chapter 1, thereby omitting the cart ride. I mean, how many different ways can this scene truly be written. I did pluck tidbits of info from that chapter and strategically place them in this one to further develop Valrimor. Thanks for the advice grits. Some of you may have guessed that the Prologue ended near the Stormcloak camp at Darkwater Crossing. Suffice it to say that Valrimor knew all of his co-passenger's names by the time the cart reached Helgen. So here we go...

17th Last Seed, 4E201

The soldier with the book looked at me and said, “You there. Step forward. Who…are you?”

“My name is Valrimor.” I answered flatly.

My head was still battling a dull throb. My thoughts raced between fear and acceptance, escape and resignation, regret and anger. I could not believe that my journey to Skyrim was going to end so soon with the abrupt impact of an executioner’s halberd. The short span of consciousness during the cart ride hadn’t allowed my brain to completely process all it had been fed. I was really beginning to miss the mead at Olav’s and regret my decision to come here.

“Not many wood elfs - ”

“Elves.” I interjected.

“Huh?”

“It’s elves, not elfs. A quill-pushing bookkeeper should know that. Personally, I prefer Bosmer. But I apologize for interrupting. Please continue.” I said with a sardonic smirk. Several chuckles came from the crowd of prisoners.

He stared at me for a second, then continued, “Fine. I was merely going to comment that not many of your kind come to Skyrim alone.”

How could he know I came alone? I need a drink!

Turning to the officer, he asked, “Captain, what should we do? He’s not on the list.”

I’m not on the list! Dare I hope?

“Forget the list. He goes to the block.” she replied.

Damn…

“By your orders, Captain.” Shrugging, he turned back to me and said, “I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains are returned to Valenwood.”

“I’m not from - ” I started, but the bookkeeper cut me off with a wave of his hand.

“Follow the Captain, prisoner.”

She turned and headed toward the block, and I dutifully followed. As I took my position next to the other prisoners, General Tullius was standing before Ulfric.

“Ulfric Stormcloak, some here in Helgen claim you’re a hero. But a hero doesn’t use a power like The Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.”

Ulfric grunted back angrily through his gag.

A power like The Voice? Could this be why the Jarl was gagged? Perhaps he was a mage as well.

“You started this war.” Tullius continued, “Plunged Skyrim into chaos. Now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!”

Suddenly, a strange roaring sound echoed through the mountain passes. Everyone looked up, searching for its source.

“What was that?” someone asked.

“It’s nothing,” the General replied, “carry on.”

“Yes, General Tullius.” said the Captain. Then she turned to an acolyte standing a bit behind the headsman and bade her to give Last Rites. As the woman began her speech, one of the prisoners decided he was tired of waiting.

“For the love of Talos, shut up and let’s get this over with!” he said, walking toward the chopping block.

“As you wish.” the Captain replied.

When the prisoner reached the block, he said, “Come on. I haven’t got all morning!”

The Captain shoved the man to his knees, and then pushed his torso forward with her boot, placing him in prime position for losing his head.

“My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials. Can you say the same?”

Those were his last words, for with that, the headsman raised his halberd and swung downward in a clean, swift strike that separated head from body. I shuddered, but felt a strange comfort in seeing how quick and painless it would be. The gathered crowd of townsfolk shouted conflicting exclamations of “You Imperial bastards!” and “Death to the Stormcloaks!”

Ralof gave a short eulogy by stating that the man was as fearless in death as he was in life. My mind was racing. Adrenaline had pushed all of my earlier pain to the side and had my heart pounding as hard as my thoughts.

Do I make a break for it and chance the archers? Do I just accept this as my fate? Do I rush one of the guards and hope the rest of the prisoners follow my lead?

I didn’t have time to consider it any further when the Captain said, “Next, the wood elf!”

The odd roaring sounded again, reverberating off the nearby peaks. It definitely sounded closer and more menacing, but I didn’t care. My adrenaline fueled anger snapped like a bough in a wind storm.

“BOSMER!” I raged, “I am a Bosmer! Not a wood elf, not a tree-hugger, and definitely not a Thalmor piece of Aldmeri trash! I am a BOSMER!”

The soldier that had been holding the ledger just looked at me and said, “Step forward prisoner, nice and ea - ”

“Oh shut your mushroom hole, you milk drinking bureaucrat!” I said as I walked and then kneeled before the headsman’s block.

I turned my head in such a way that the last thing I would see would be the executioner’s eyes as he swung his blade.

Would this truly be the last thing my eyes would behold? Y’ffre take me to my mother…

What I did see was far more unexpected. The strange sound we had been hearing returned, and from behind the closest peak within my field of vision flew a large beast that my brain instantly classified as a dragon! It swooped in low and then with a couple mighty flaps of its wings, it slowed itself and reared back, coming to rest on the tower directly in front of me. It seemed to gaze directly into my soul with red, piercing eyes. The beast opened its mouth and uttered a sound that seemed to shake the foundation of the earth. Dark clouds, out of nowhere, began circling above its head. Then it made another, different sound and a concussive blast shoved me hard into the chopping block. My vision was instantly turned to a blurry haze. I became aware of boulders crashing to earth all around me. The world had become a cacophony of thudding impacts, yelling soldiers, screaming wounded, and gusts of scorching wind. Through all of this I managed to hear Ralof’s voice.

“Bosmer! Quickly! Follow me!”

I rose to my knees and squinted. There was Ralof, waving and beckoning for me to get up and run. I stood up and a searing blast of hot air knocked me on my backside. As I rose again, an Imperial guard ran past me. He was screaming and completely ablaze. Even though he was one of my captors only moments ago, I felt an instant pang of pity.

What a horrible way to die!

Ralof had made his way to the door of another tower. I sprinted toward him as more boulders smashed the grounds and buildings around me. Almost everything in my sight that was able to burn seemed to be ablaze. Scorched bodies lay strewn about, making for flaming obstacles that reeked with the stench of burnt flesh. When I finally reached the tower, my momentum carried me through the door and to the floor of the chamber within.

EDIT - Per Acadian - Nit fixed, thanks! Added date to entry.

Posted by: Acadian May 5 2013, 11:10 PM

A warm welcome to the Arena of Fan Fiction here at Chorrol!

Your prologue provides an entertaining and efficient introduction of Valrimor, where we learn plenty enough about him to get us started.

Chapter One is tense indeed as the proud Bosmer prepares to meet his fate, only to be interrupted by a dragon attack! Whoever said dragons are bad? This one seemed pretty darn helpful!

The quality of your writing is superb. Your descriptions and dialogue are both captivating and flow naturally.

As you did ask for critique, I would mention a tiny nit. It sticks out only because, as mALX indicated, your editing is otherwise immaculate: ’Do I just except this as my fate?’ (I expect you want ‘accept’ instead of ‘except’ in this context.)

Based on the advice you’ve already gotten and your own comments, it seems you’ve well ferreted out the essential elements of running a successful fanfic thread:
- Limit your update frequency to once or twice a week.
- Limit your update volume to 1000-2000 words.
- Graciously acknowledge your readers.
- Support the writers who comment your work by returning the favor.
- Do not be intimidated away from longer stories. As you’ve heard, most of us have some sort of ‘Executive Summary’ feature to help new readers easily catch up. Don’t hesitate to ask the writer via PM if you need a point to their summary, since some may simply provide it via PM on request. Even without a summary or catching up, I’m sure most writers would rather have you simply join them in progress rather than being put off by the volume of their work.

Again, welcome and you’re off to a magnificent start!

Posted by: mALX May 6 2013, 12:33 AM

This is probably one of the best renditions I've seen of the culmination of that cart ride at the beginning of the Skyrim game! I know it by heart, but you've managed to bring it to life and make it feel new - that is hard to do! I know what side your Bosmer will be in the Civil War now, lol.

One of the outstanding little details you added that I've yet to see anyone mention in a Skyrim Fic was such a realistic touch that I wanted to point it out:

You can't see someone beheaded and know you are next without having some thought - reading this it makes sense that would be one of the important thoughts that would cross one's mind.

I loved this chapter even better than the prologue, and that is saying a LOT! Awesome Write!

Posted by: McBadgere May 6 2013, 03:36 AM

Very accepting of the return of the Dragons isn't he?... ...

Very cool... ...

Loved the way you took the familiar script and then wove your own magic through it...

Brilliant stuff...

Looking forward to seeing how you add to the fun!...

Love it!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: SubRosa May 8 2013, 12:10 AM

Hi SkyGuy. Try not to be too intimidated by the great white whale sized stories on the site. They won't take your leg off! As others have said, most writers with those big honking tales try to make some kind of summary for people to catch up quickly rather than slog through 200k plus words. What I do is put a one paragraph summary at the beginning each episode that recaps the previous episode. Sort of a "what happened in last week's show" sort of thing. Acadian has a thread just for a short version of his Buffy tale, etc...

As others have said, you have a good beginning. I would say that the nuts and bolts of your prose is quite good as well. Your character sounds very interesting. A half Bosmer, half Nord (Bosmord? ) is a neat combination. Now I can see why your forum avatar has blond hair! Being from a family of refugees from the Dominion adds quite a bit of spice to his background.

Vals saracasm and quick wit as he faced the headsman's axe would have earned the respect of any Celtic bard! We can see the scholar in him just cannot resist leaping out.

Oh shut your mushroom hole,
Now I have to add 'mushroom hole' to my list of insults!

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy May 8 2013, 06:16 AM

Thanks to Acadian, mALX, McBadgere, and SubRosa for your very kind comments. I'm going to post one more because I'll be gone for a bit. Might be able to post again on Sunday or Monday. I hope you enjoy this tidbit and your weekend...

17th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

I lay on my back, looking up at a circular chandelier about 30 or so feet above me. It was swaying slightly from the tremors of the dragon attack. Occasional small clouds of mortar dust were descending around the candles. Time seemed to stretch out momentarily. The chaos around me was muffled. It was sensory overload. There was too much happening too fast. The fog of war, some called it. But this was no war.

Could that really have been a dragon? Of course it was. What else could it be?

These thoughts and the slowing of time actually occurred in mere seconds. I stood up to see Ralof and Ulfric standing near the door. As if to echo my own thoughts, Ralof said, “Jarl Ulfric, what was that thing? Could the legends be true?”

“Legends don’t burn down villages”

At that moment, I realized that Ulfric was no longer gagged. His voice did not sound like a murder weapon, as Tullius had accused. It sounded like the voice of a leader. It fit his appearance, standing tall and sure, with no evidence of fear. The sounds of mayhem continued just outside the door. The sounds of the damage it had caused were right here in the room. I heard a moan and looked to the source. What my eyes found made me cringe. A Stormcloak soldier was kneeling over another, an injured woman in a singed Stormcloak cuirass. She had a gruesomely shattered forearm and severe burns on both of her legs. She was convulsing and obviously in shock, a trickle of blood coming from the corner of her mouth. The kneeling soldier looked up and said, “We need to move, now!”

He tried to lift the woman, but most of the flesh on her legs slid away from the bone. She howled in agony, and then went limp. The soldier laid her back down and said a short prayer. As he stood, Ralof grabbed my arm and said, “Quickly, up the stairs!”

“Do you think you could cut - ”

“Move!” he shouted and gave me a shove.

The stone stairway was built into to the curved outside wall of the tower. There was already another Stormcloak at the first landing when Ralof and I started up. Suddenly, the wall burst inward, followed by the fanged face of the dragon! A roaring gout of flame issued from the beast, immediately incinerating the Stormcloak and blasting all the flesh away from his bones. He didn’t even have time to scream. His charred skeleton shattered against the steps. I closed my eyes and shuddered, swallowing back a little bile as I did so. I have seen horrible deaths before, but this was a nightmare that defied imagination. The dragon had retreated and flown off over the village when Ralof gave me a shove and urged me onward.

When we reached the hole in the wall, Ralof turned to me and said, “See that inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going.”

I looked out the hole, first at the distance, and then at the deadly fall if I missed. This was not going to be easy with my wrists still bound together. A roar and the beating of dragon wings spurred me as convincingly as Ralof.

“Go!” he said, “We’ll follow when we can.”

I took a step backward, then sprinted toward the hole and jumped. Once again, time seemed to slow to a crawl. I caught what were only mere glimpses of the damage and death, but they seemed to be detailed panoramas. There were burnt bodies and buildings all around. Soldiers, both Imperial and Stormcloak, were firing arrows at their newly found common enemy. Some priests were using Magicka, hurling balls of flame and bolts of lightning into the air. The remaining living were running to escape or running to the defense. The opening in the inn roof moved toward me in slow motion. The room was strewn with broken furniture. I could barely put out my imprisoned arms to break my fall or maintain any type of balance. I landed on the edge of a toppled bookshelf and crashed to the floor full on my shoulder. Blinding pain shot through my right arm.

Grimacing and cursing through clenched teeth, I examined my landing area. Ahead of me was a hole in the floor that would allow me access to the ground level. I made for it and jumped down easily, sparing my shoulder any further injury. I had landed directly in front of a doorway leading out of the inn. The shadow of the dragon passed by and I could see it as I stepped out into the yard. The beast was huge. It circled and landed on the other side of a nearby burning house, causing the ground to shudder as it did so. Suddenly I froze with horror. There was a child not ten yards from it! An Imperial soldier was calling to him.

“Haming, you need to get over here now! That a boy. You’re doing great.” he said as the child ran toward him. The boy’s face was a study in terror. His eyes were as big as saucers, his mouth agape in a voiceless scream. He reached the soldier who grabbed his arm and dragged him toward a third man in the yard, while the dragon belched flame and narrowly missed its intended victims. The close call with instant death was evidenced by the singed hair and smoldering shirt on the boy.

I dove and rolled for the same pile of debris that the other three were hiding behind, my injured arm vigorously protesting. The soldier was checking the boy for burns and became satisfied that there was nothing serious. He ruffled Haming’s hair, then gave the child a smile and a wink, saying, “Don’t worry son. It will grow back.”

The soldier looked at me momentarily and I suddenly realized that this was the quill-pushing bureaucrat. He turned out to be not such a milk drinker after all. I did not let my eye stray far from his unsheathed sword.

“You’re still alive prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way!” he said. Then he turned to the other man and said, “Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense.”

“Da, don’t go!” Haming yelled and lurched toward the soldier. Gunnar restrained him.

“Son,” he said with a firm voice, “I’ll be back, but I have a job to do.”

“Gods guide you, Hadvar.” Gunnar said as Hadvar turned back toward me.

“Okay prisoner, with me.” he said.

“Why?” I replied, “So you can get me to the next available headsman?”

“I will see justice done. Would you rather burn to death in agony, or die quick under the blade? I’ll not kill you myself, for that is not my place unless you make a move against me. The choice is yours.”

The man made a good point, so I followed.

EDIT : Nits picked. Thanks Acadian and SubRosa.

Posted by: SubRosa May 9 2013, 12:08 AM

Nice to see some more meat put on this scene that some of us have witnessed dozens of times. Well, except for the meat sliding off some people's burnt and shattered bones!

“Do you think you could cut - ”
This is of course the old question of so many of us ask. How come everyone else has their bonds cut but me! I think you did an effective job of putting that off with the rush of action, and the protagonist being pulled along with the tide of events.

His eyes were as big as saucers, his mouth agape in a voiceless scream.
This was an excellent way of showing us the child's fear.

“So you can get me to the next available headsman?”
This is what I have always thought. Weren't you about to kill me bub?



nits:
hurling fireballs and wads of electricity into the air
'wads' sounds kind of odd. You might go with a term like 'bolts', or 'blasts'. Likewise, electricity is a rather 20th Century, scientific-sounding name, given the setting. 'Lightning' might work better.

Posted by: Acadian May 9 2013, 12:23 AM

A terrifyingly harrowing escape for Valrimor! Your quick pacing, interspersed with perceived slowdowns of time itself, served to great effect here. The burned soldier who died in another’s arms, and detailing the rescue of little Haming, really helped to ‘humanize’ the warriors.

Nit? ‘Suddenly, the wall burst inward, followed by {the?} fanged face of the dragon!’

Posted by: McBadgere May 11 2013, 10:38 AM

Loving the extra parts you're adding into this section...

The bit about the Stormcloak being vaporised was very cool...Well...Horrible, yes...But very cool also!... ...

Brilliant run through this next bit...Thoroughly enjoyed it!...

Looking forward to seeing how you work the choice section in...

Nice one!!..

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy May 11 2013, 01:52 PM

Once again, thanks for the kind comments from Subrosa, Acadian, and McBadgere.

@SubRosa - Thanks for the insight on my wording. I hadn't even considered the word "electricity" as modern. I did make the change you suggested. But now I have a conundrum...how to describe future visual manefestations of shock-based spells without using the word "electric" or its permutations? I fear "lightning" may become redundant. Any ideas?

@Acadian - Thanks for spotting the editing mistake. Its fixed now. And thanks even more for noticing that I endeavored to put identities to the stuff that goes on around the protagonist in the tutorial section.

@McBadgere - Your wait is over, as I am about to post the choice scene. Do enjoy!

And I do hope others enjoy as well, as Chapter 3 deals with a decision for Valrimor...

17th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

Hadvar ran with his sword drawn. A silly image of my mother admonishing against such actions came to mind and I actually chuckled out loud. Meanwhile, the dragon was still circling overhead and laying waste to Helgen. We dodged through the Oblivion-like landscape of fire and panic.

“Stay close to the wall!” Hadvar advised over his shoulder as we approached a damaged stone partition. I darted to the left to follow that advice and was almost immediately impaled against the stone by a dragon talon! The beast landed atop the wall, right above my head! An ear-shattering utterance of three distinct sounds in rapid succession was followed by a gale of fiery breath. It made me curse my bonds when I tried to cover my ears. The dragon must have been content with the results of this latest blast, because it took off to continue spreading its wrath.

Hadvar again urged me to follow him, and I did so. Someone, perhaps General Tullius, ordered Hadvar into the keep. It was impossible to tell exactly who it was. Chaos reigned supreme, with soldiers yelling, buildings collapsing, and the dragon ever roaring and spewing fiery death. Through all of this, Hadvar kept his cool and made sure I stayed with him, thereby keeping me alive. My earlier estimation of the man couldn’t have been more wrong. He was obviously well trained. Under different circumstances, like not keeping me alive so that I may be executed or not being an Imperial Legionnaire, he would have made a staunch ally.

We continued through the wrecked village. As we turned to head for an arched opening in yet another wall, I saw the dragon fly directly over us. A strange alien voice briefly filled the air as it made a sweeping circle and was headed back in our direction. Flaming arrows, along with mage fire and lightning, streamed toward the dragon like some bizarre fireworks display. It swooped down and plucked an archer from the top of a wall, ripping the poor fellow in half and casting his remains down upon the defenders as it flew past.

Suddenly, Ralof appeared with sword in hand. I stopped and stared at the two enemies facing each other. My mind raced as I tried to think of a way to take advantage of this situation. If these two started fighting, I would have the perfect opportunity to escape!

“Ralof! You damned traitor! Out of my way!” Hadvar yelled.

“We’re escaping, Hadvar. You’re not stopping us this time.” the Stormcloak replied. Then he looked directly at me and said, “You! Come on, into the keep!”

I looked at Hadvar. This man had helped to keep me alive through the attack. But his reason for doing so was to deliver me to another headsman. He was gazing back as if to say, “Well?” The choice was easy. Ralof seemed to have no ill will toward me. I was fairly certain that he would not be looking for the nearest Imperial executioner.

“Thank you Hadvar. Good bye Hadvar.” I said, and dashed after Ralof.

“Fine, I hope the dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!” Hadvar said over his shoulder as he ran off to join his comrades.

Ralof was waiting at an entrance to the keep. It was one of the last buildings left still standing. When I reached him, I held out my arms and he said, “I can cut you loose inside. Come on!”

We entered the keep and barred the door behind us. The interior almost looked as though there was nothing happening outside. I say almost because a dead Stormcloak lay near a table across the room. The chamber was decorated by tapestries emblazoned with the stylized dragon emblem of The Empire. I found that oddly ironic. Hunting trophies bedecked the walls, and there was a rug in the center of the room. Ralof went over and knelt next to his fallen comrade. I walked up in time to hear him say, “We’ll meet again in Sovngarde, brother.” Then he stood and faced me.

“It looks like we’re the only ones who made it.”

“There must be others.” I replied.

“Mayhap there are. Gods! That thing was a dragon! Just like the children’s stories and legends of old. It is a harbinger of the End Times!” Ralof said, and for the first time, I thought I detected fear in his voice. Not of dying. Ralof has already shown his bravery when it comes to death. No, this was different. I believe he was afraid of what the appearance of a dragon meant in Nordic culture.

“Be that as it may, do you think you could cut my bonds sometime today?” I asked while extending my wrists in his direction.

“Of course.” he said, drawing a dagger from a sheath at his hip. “Sorry. It was Valrimor, right?”

“Yes, and it still is, thanks to Hadvar,” I replied, rubbing my wrists after he slit my bindings, and then hastily added, “and to you of course.”

“Well, Valrimor, you might as well take Gunjar’s gear. He won’t need it anymore.” he said, gesturing to the corpse on the floor. “But be quick about it, we need to get moving.”

I knelt down and began removing Gunjar's armor. Closer inspection revealed that this man had died from a sword wound, and not from anything a dragon had done to him. I wondered where his killer was as I undressed the Stormcloak. I was hoping for a bow and a quiver of arrows, but no such luck. His only weapon was a war axe. With my shoulder being injured, this would certainly not be my weapon of choice. Of course, drawing a bowstring would be no stroll in the woods either. Thanks to my Nordic half, the armor was not a terrible fit. Just a little loose, but completely functional. When I stood back up, I gave the axe a couple swings and wished I hadn’t. Pain ran from shoulder to elbow. Best I wait until I had to actually defend myself. That should prove interesting. I have never been one for battling in close quarters with swords or axes. I know the fundamentals, but that’s it.

While I was changing and arming myself, Ralof searched for a way to move on. There were two gates, one at either side of the room. When I finished, he informed me that there was no way to unlock the gates from this side without a key. I silently cursed the Imperials. They had impounded all of my lock picking gear, along with the rest of my personal effects. My bow, my tent, my ale! They were all likely to be ashes by now.

"Well, Ralof, what now?" I asked.

A moment later, the answer presented itself.

EDIT - Fixed a nit re: Ralof.

Posted by: mALX May 11 2013, 06:56 PM

Uh oh, I got a chapter behind! I am sorry I missed that chapter, will try and catch up this weekend

Posted by: SubRosa May 11 2013, 07:08 PM

I feel your pain about lightning and shock, I try to just alternate between those two terms myself, and throw in words like 'sparks', 'blasts', and 'bolts'.

“I can cut you loose inside. Come on!”
Well its about darned time! Sorry, I have done this tutorial sooo many times I just cannot help it.

my ale!
Val is definitely part Nord!



nits:
Ralof had no intentions of saving me from one death just to lead me to another.
Since we cannot see into Ralof's mind, we do not really know that for certain. He could be a Namira cultist planning on eating Val! I suggest you make this seem less absolute, such as "I had no reason to believe Ralof would save me from one death just to lead me to another.

Posted by: Acadian May 11 2013, 11:40 PM

Shock magic. When pondering descriptions, it can be helpful to consider what each of the senses might be able to contribute. I wouldn’t use all this at once, as it is clearly over the top, but here are some example style thoughts: ’The hairs on my casting arm stood out as lightning crackled from the fingers of that hand to streak down the corridor in a blinding display of noise and light. As my powerful bolt struck the armored warrior his body convulsed, limbs flailing involuntarily. Even after he crashed to the ground, residual sparks angrily arced and danced around his smoking corpse as if reluctant to surrender the corridor back into darkness. As the odor of charred flesh that had been fused with mail and plate drifted to me, an unpleasant metallic taste seemed to adhere to my tongue.’

’A silly image of my mother admonishing against such actions came to mind and I actually chuckled out loud.’
What a fabulous observation that clearly conjured an angry mother yelling, “You could put an eye out with that thing!”

Whew! Another wonderfully intense episode. So, Valrimor has his hands free, he’s armored up, has an axe that pains his shoulder to use and is stuck behind locked gates – for the moment.

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy May 12 2013, 04:59 AM

Excellent suggestions and thanks to you two for opening my eyes! I couldn't see the forest for the trees (no Bosmer pun intended) .

Posted by: McBadgere May 12 2013, 06:50 PM

D'you know...While I admit that I'm easily pleased and pretty much always awestruck when it comes to other writers...The ease with which you're rendering this whole opening - what is essentially an - interactive FMV, is stunning...I applaud you...*Applauds*...See... ...

I'm really liking Valrimor...Brilliant and funny character...

Looking forward to more...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: Darkness Eternal May 13 2013, 01:51 AM

Hello! Welcome to the forums! Quite the tale we have here. I'll be a latest reader!

Prologue: You've given us some information on our protagonist and shared some of his history. Sad that he never met his father, and I do find myself wondering what could've happened to him. So, he was a mercenary for hire? A good job, depending on the client

Chapter 1: The all too familiar setting. The walk to the headman's axe. I did like his little quip about elfs and elves, he's certainly a comical fellow at times. What I like here is that you took the time and effort to explain the quest we know through his eyes, and it offered so much more and as mALX said, gave it life.

Chapter II: Run Val run! An intense scene, this one, and action-packed.

This was an intense image to picture, and I envisioned it as I read it along. Very nice!

Chapter III: Valrimor makes it to the keep, relieves a dead man from his armor and uses an axe, much to his chagrin. Perhaps now his Nordic side can get use to using such a weapon? Speaking of which, I do like the fact that he's a Nord/Bosmer hybrid. Very unique and he certainly looks that way in the image. Now, I am eager to see his fighting skills put to test, though it might take more than a few human enemies . . .

Posted by: mALX May 13 2013, 04:17 PM

Oh yeah Ralof, don’t take the second to ensure I can defend myself if needed, ROFL! The first time I played, I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t activate anything - then Hadvar cut my bindings and I suddenly realized what the issue was, lol.




This was an amazing imagery, very visual and well done! Once again you have brought alive a scene we all know by heart, and managed to get across your characters personality through the chaos of the dragon attack. That is extremely hard to do, amazing write!


NEXT:




LOVED this little detail! Your main character’s personality comes through strongly in every chapter, regardless of what is going on - I LOVE that. I feel I’m getting to know him more with each chapter, his personality and ideals come through amazingly well!


SPEW! Nice touch of humor in that tense situation! Awesome Write, all of this!


*

Posted by: jack cloudy May 13 2013, 09:30 PM

I like how the story mixes serious with a downright comical protagonist. On the one hand we have an execution and a dragon attack, and on the other we have a BOSMER, AND PROUD OF IT! Who at times seems to be concerned with everything except his incoming doom.


And like mALX, I laughed whenever he tried to get someone to let him use his hands again.


The dragon attack was downright vicious with the way you described people being torched left and right. I admit I cringed when the one guy in the tower was reduced to ash and the woman below died from losing her legs. At times, my imagination is a bit too strong.


Two details I noticed. First, I thought that Hamir is the kid who wants to see the soldiers but gets sent inside. Having him as Hadvar's kid is no big deal though. I mean, they all look the same anyway.

The other is when rude and angry Stormcloak man gets executed. I always thought it was a Stormcloak who yelled about the Imperial bastards. On the other hand, having a random townsperson do it helps sell the chasm of the civil war again. No city is clearly on one side or the other, aside from the uniforms of the local troops and the Jarl. That's what makes it a civil war.

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy May 14 2013, 03:11 PM

Wow. We have new readers! Thanks to you all for joining in and taking the time to read and comment on Valrimor's tale.

@SubRosa - Great call on your well appreciated nit. The devil is in the details, and that was good one. And yes, Val's Nordic half does love his ale!

@Acadian - Thanks again for the shock spell suggestions. Very helpful. Fears of eye loss while running with sharp objects...what mother hasn't fretted over this? Good thing Hadvar didn't have a Red Ryder BB gun!

@McBadgere - I am glad you are enjoying my take on the opening tutorial. A neurotic part of me worries about readers saying under their breath, "It's a tutorial...three chapters already?...get to the meat already!" But it is a perfect setting to develop Valrimor, so I'm running with it.

@Darkness Eternal - Thanks for joining in. Val's father is indeed a mystery to him, so he doesn't know what the man actually did for a living. This will come out in future writes (I'll not give up more than that ). Val's fighting skills shall soon be evident...

@mALX - Welcome back! I laughed out loud when you told of not being able to activate anything. The exact same thing happened to me! Many have commented on the incineration scene and the wounded soldier scene. I was really worried that they may have been too "over the top" with horrific descriptions. I am relieved that this doesn't seem to be the case. I was trying hard to convey how devestating an attack by such a beast would really be, something the game kind of glosses over.

@jack cloudy - Thanks for joining in as well. Val's thinking process is a bit twisted at times, much like his author's. He has a tendency to use sarcasm and humor as a defense mechanism against fear. Regarding the details - In the game, it is entirely likely that Haming is not Hadvar's son, and it is entirely likely that "Imperial bastards" was yelled by a Stormcloak. I wrote the way I did to suit the way I wanted the story to flow. I will confess early here that I do intend to change actual game facts however I may see fit to meet my ends. I was glad that you were ok with both instances, but rest assurred, there will be others.

I want to thank all of you for your interest, comments, and critiques. They are most appreciated!

Now, the next installment...when we left, Ralof and Val were at an impasse in the vestibule of the keep...

17th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

The sound of activity echoed in the hallway. Footfalls and clanking armor found our ears well before a familiar female voice ordered a soldier to get the gate open. By then, Ralof and I had secluded ourselves in the shadows on either side of the gateway, crouched and prepared to strike with our axes. Ralof gave me hand signals, raising one finger then pointing it at me, then raising two fingers and pointing to himself. It was a simple plan. The first through the gate would be mine, and the second, his. I would wait until both Imperials were all the way into the room before making my move, insuring that Ralof could cut off any retreat by the second.

It happened quickly. As soon as the second Imperial entered the room, I jumped out of the shadows and slashed into the sword shoulder of my target. Due to my injury, the blow was not as effective as it could have been. It glanced off his armor and did little more than alert him to my presence. The Imperial yelled and spun to face me, pulling his sword back for a thrust. He never had the time to complete his move before my axe reversed course and laid his throat open. He dropped his sword and grasped the wound with his hands while falling to his knees. My axe looped back again to the top of his head, splitting the leather helmet and his skull. He was dead before he finished hitting the floor. Ralof had just as quickly disposed of his opponent. It was the same female Captain that had ordered us to our deaths before a dragon had flown out of myth.

What an odd twist of fate.

Ralof searched the Captain’s body while I searched her aide and cursed the pain coursing through my arm. It was Ralof that met with success, and he walked to the opposite gate that was still closed. The sound of tumblers falling into place and a slightly squeaky hinge proclaimed success. There was a thunderous crash somewhere on a floor above us, declaring the keep was no longer undamaged.

“Come on,” he said, “let’s get out of here before the dragon brings the whole tower down on our heads.”

I did not need to be told twice. We sprinted through the passage and down a set of stairs. When we reached the next level and turned a corner, we narrowly averted a bone-crushing death as a large section of the stone ceiling crashed to the floor in front of us. The roar of the dragon punctuated our near demise as a grim reminder of our dilemma.

“Damn, that dragon doesn’t give up easy,” said Ralof.

“Did you expect it to?” I retorted sarcastically. Ralof started to reply when we both heard voices coming from just beyond the only doorway available to us.

“Grab everything important and let’s move!” one voice commanded, then added, “The dragon is burning everything to the ground.”

Both of us drew our axes and Ralof went through the door first. It was a fairly well lit and apparently well stocked storeroom. Ralof never slowed down, sprinting to the next door and attacking the first Imperial he saw. Within seconds, we had sent two more Imperials to meet their makers.

“I’ll guard the door. Check the room for potions and supplies. We’ll need provisions once we’re out of here,” Ralof said.

My shoulder was throbbing with pain, so the first thing I did was discard my axe and procure a sword belt from one of the dead Imperials. I would need to add a notch to the belt, but that would come later. After a quick but thorough search, I was able to find several vials of healing potion, some bread and a couple bottles of wine, some rabbit meat, and a few apples. My shoulder barked again as I raised a wine bottle and drank deeply.

Oh Gods yes, that’s good…

Then I opened a vial of healing potion and downed that as well. I relished the instant warmth and soothing exhilaration of its healing powers. With a large grin, I raised the wine bottle to show Ralof and tossed a vial of potion to him. After placing all of the provisions into an empty burlap sack I had found, I joined Ralof at the door.

“Ready?” he asked.

“No, I would rather stay here and finish this wine,” I replied, “but lead on sir.” I replied with a flourishing gesture toward the door.

Ralof grinned and proceeded through the door, down another passageway to another descending set of stairs. He was a few paces ahead of me when suddenly he yelled, “Troll’s blood! It’s a torture chamber!” and ran ahead, drawing out his axe.

By the time I arrived, he and another Stormcloak were standing over yet two more Imperials that would be late for supper. I surveyed the room for any other possible assailants, and then resheathed my sword. As I looked around, I realized that there was far more blood than there should have been from the recent skirmish.

“Was Jarl Ulfric with you?” Ralof was asking the other Stormcloak.

“No,” she replied, “I haven’t seen him since the dragon showed up.”

Then a backpack on a small table caught my eye. I went over and opened it. Lock picks and a small slim dagger! The picks went immediately to my breast pocket, the dagger to my belt. I added the burlap bag to the backpack and slung the straps over my shoulders. Ralof had started searching the chamber also. The woman kept a watchful eye on both exits.

“Wait a second. It looks like there is something in this cage,” Ralof said as he walked over and checked the cage door. “There is a dead prisoner in here, and coins on the floor near him, but the cage is locked. Can you pick this Valrimor?”

Nodding and grinning, I pulled a pick from my pocket and walked over to the door. A few pokes with the pick and a twist of the dagger took mere seconds to pop the lock. I looked at Ralof as I shoved lightly on the cage door with my finger, and said, “Child’s play.”

The door swung in and I quickly rifled through the dead man’s pockets. I was rewarded with a coin purse. I grabbed the loose coins from the floor and then saw the book. It was a mage’s spell tome with a one word title, Sparks. I recognized it immediately for what it was and recoiled. A childhood memory flooded through me.

"I didn't mean to Ma!" cried a blond Bosmer child...

I closed my eyes and shook my head to clear the memory, then left the book where it lay when I exited the cage.

“I got it all,” I said to the others, “let’s keep moving.”

EDIT - Fixed some punctuation issues, added date, changed some wording.

Posted by: mALX May 16 2013, 01:38 AM

Your main character keeps me in stitches with his inner dialogue, between his dry humor and absolute common sense I very much like him already!



I loved this whole paragraph, but pulled this sentence out - really nice, describing the feeling of the healing potion as it works! Loved this whole section!

Valrimor is a very endearing character, his personality shines in this chapter; as well as throughout the story so far. Very much liking this story!

The memory that came with the book of magic spells (“Spark”) - what a huge detail that was to add! Anyone else may have grabbed it to sell, etc. - this makes Valrimor unique, really loved that part!

Awesome Write!

Posted by: SubRosa May 16 2013, 07:40 PM

Into the bowels we go. Does that make Val and Ralof the equivalent of... nevermind.

My shoulder barked again as I raised a wine bottle and drank deeply.
Methinks Val would fit in nicely with the Bravil Fighters Guild...

No, I would rather stay here and finish this wine,” I replied, “but lead on sir.”
I see Val still has his now characteristic sarcasm. Seriously though, little things like this help give him definition and a unique voice.

"I didn't mean to Ma!" cried a blond Bosmer child...
This was a nice touch. I wonder what he blew up with a lightning spell when he was little?

Posted by: McBadgere May 18 2013, 06:11 AM

...

I liked that... ...

Brilliant episode...

Handy with a lockpick then?... ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: Grits May 18 2013, 01:26 PM

I’m really enjoying Valrimor’s sarcastic humor as he survives the dragon attack. It’s a great way for him to keep the horror of the situation at bay so he can keep moving forward.

The date at the top of each post is a great idea. Even when he wouldn’t actually write Continued, the journal entry is presented over multiple posts and is indeed continued from the last one.

I particularly loved Ralof’s hand signals before the scuffle with the Imperials. That was a great touch. I also loved that Val picked up the backpack and left the spell tome. Those details make me forget the hundred times I’ve gone through Helgen because I’m right there focused on Val experiencing it for the first time through his eyes.

I may drop behind occasionally (RL, you know how it goes), but I’m always looking forward to this story!

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy May 18 2013, 01:39 PM

Thanks to mALX, SubRosa, McBadgere and Grits for your kind comments. Here is some weekend reading for you. It will be difficult, but resist the temptation to add "...oh my!" to the chapter title. I hope you enjoy...

17th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

The three of us left the torture chamber and entered what appeared to be the cell block of the dungeon. The barred and gated walls of several cells faced the walkway. As we passed these, I noticed a small leather bag near a skeleton in one cell. I had heard that the Nords in Skyrim imprisoned thieves with their loot as an irony to show the uselessness of theft.

“Hold up,” I said, and went to work on the lock. This one popped even easier than the first. I rushed in and grabbed the bag, grinning at the sound of clinking coins. In seconds, I was back with the others.

“Do I need to worry about being robbed in my sleep with you around?” Ralof asked me with a raised eyebrow.

“If you had anything worth stealing, you would,” I replied with a smile.

Ralof chuckled and we pressed on. Another stair at the end of the passage led us downward yet again. The stench of rotted flesh assaulted our nostrils. We entered another room that was even more gruesome than the torture chamber. Suspended cages, with corpses in various stages of decay ranging from fresh to skeletal, hung all around the room. We crossed the chamber quickly, and then paused at the crude entrance to a tunnel. The passage ahead was lit by braziers and torches.

“I wonder if there are more Imperials, or worse, this far down,” said the female Stormcloak.

“We’ll know soon enough. Let’s keep moving though. The sooner were through this, the better,” I replied, looking at the narrow confines of the route before us.

Ralof entered the tunnel and we followed. There was no masonry work here. This passage had been hewn from solid stone. It was so narrow that I felt as though the walls were closing in on us. I urged Ralof to pick up the pace. After rounding a few bends, Ralof raised his hand as a signal to stop. Voices carried up the passageway.

“Orders are to wait here until General Tullius arrives,” one voice commanded.

“I’m not waiting to be killed by a dragon! We need to pull back!” said another.

I turned and whispered to the woman behind me, “Does that answer your question sufficiently, ma’am?”

“On three...ready?” Ralof whispered while getting his axe ready, and then he yelled, “THREE!” and ran into the room. We followed and joined the battle. There were five Imperial soldiers against the three of us. The end result was the same as our previous skirmishes, except for one disturbing detail. The female Stormcloak had been slain. Ralof was staring down at her.

“Did you know her well?” I asked.

“No, she was a new recruit,” he replied. “I don’t even know her name.”

“I’m sorry Ralof,” I said. It was the best I had to offer at the moment, because my mind was elsewhere. I looked around the chamber for a moment and then spotted what I was seeking.

YES! Here we go…

I relieved an Imperial archer of his long bow and quiver. Looking at the other dead Imperials, I found two more quivers. Now I was properly armed with a bow and a couple dozen arrows. None of it was of great quality, but they were much more suited to my talents than this blade. I sat on a rock and pulled the wine bottle from my pack. I managed three healthy pulls while Ralof finished paying his last respects to his fallen comrade. Before putting the cork back in, I offered the bottle Ralof’s way while suppressing a belch. He declined. I shrugged, put everything away, and stood up.

More for me…

We moved on to the next exit, Ralof in the lead. It was a low, arched passage that ended at a raised drawbridge. Fortunately, the lever to lower the bridge was on our side. I gave it a pull and the bridge lowered into place. Ralof crossed and I followed just in time the have it smashed to splinters right on my heels. The dragon announced its culpability with a distant roar. There would be no turning back now. The drawbridge landing was a masonry platform with a set of stairs leading into a larger natural cavern. A stream babbled its way through to the other end of the cave. Water needs to find a way out, so a stream made as good a guide as any. We pressed on.

After a time, the stream continued through a space that would not allow us to follow it further. A tunnel branched off to the right. Whether or not this was a good thing remained to be seen, as a foul stench emanated from the entrance. I nocked an arrow and Ralof drew out his axe. The odor grew as we ventured deeper into the tunnel, and pale sticky masses eventually began to coalesce into more intricate webs. We looked at each other knowingly.

There would be spiders ahead.

We entered an expanded area of the cave that had walls covered with webs. We did not have time to admire the handiwork, for as soon as we entered, spiders dropped from the ceiling as if on cue. I bounded to the nearest high ground and dispatched three arrows, dropping three spiders in their tracks while Ralof took care of the other two. I shuddered. I hated spiders. Ralof actually vocalized his shared opinion. He claimed they had too many eyes. The arachnids did hold one treasure though. I asked Ralof to wait while I knelt and opened the backpack. There was just a little wine left in the bottle. I uncorked it and finished it off.

“You asked me to wait so that you could have another drink of wine?”

“No,” …burp… “that was just a binus…um…bonus. I needed the bottle.”

I went to each spider and milked as much venom as each would provide into the wine bottle. I corked my new poison and told Ralof that I was ready now. We could still hear the stream, so we followed that sound. Every now and then, it would find its way back into the caverns and passages we occupied. Ralof suddenly came to a halt so abruptly that I walked right into his back.

“What the…?”

Ralof was pointing ahead and said, “There is a bear over there. See her? She’s slee-”

“I got this,” I assured him, patting his shoulder before I crept closer to the bear.

I nocked an arrow and raised it, drawing the bowstring back to my ear. I was having difficulty aiming. My arrowhead seemed to wander back and forth. I stopped what I was doing and took the time to soak the arrowhead in spider venom, just in case my slightly intoxicated aim prevented a clean kill shot. It was probably a good thing too, because my arrow hit her in the hind quarters. However, the poison did its job nicely. She had time to let out a growl and even began to charge toward us before she dropped stone dead in her tracks. An old friend of mine had once told me, “Poison is a drunken archer’s best friend.” I was far from “drunk”, by my standards. But it was handy stuff, that frostbite venom.

“HA!” I cheered with a leap into the air, and then went into a deep, flourished bow.

Ralof just looked at me, shook his head and said, “No more wine for you!” as he walked by. I chuckled and followed. Normally, I would harvest the bear first, and properly dispose of its carcass. Normally didn’t apply to right now.

The passageway began to get lighter. I could smell and feel fresher air buffeting my face. And suddenly, there it was. Daylight was ahead. We walked out into brilliant sunshine and the ever so welcome aroma of coniferous forest. The splendor was briefly broken by the howl of the dragon, in flight and moving away to the north. I laid down right there, looked at the sky, and laughed heartily.

EDIT - Picked nits. Thanks to Acadian for the suggestion of Googling the "How to". Extremely helpful! Added date.

Posted by: Grits May 18 2013, 01:55 PM

I’m still getting over “Innnnnto the Bowels…” from the last one!

“On three...ready?” Ralof whispered while getting his axe ready, and then he yelled, “THREE!” and ran into the room.
Nords.

I love how you explained the presence of treasure on the dead prisoners.

I laid down right there, looked at the sky, and laughed heartily.
Yay, he’s free! I’m looking forward to finding out what he’s going to do now.

Posted by: Acadian May 19 2013, 04:20 PM

I follow numerous stories and quite appreciate a tiny ‘In our last episode. . . .’ summary of a sentence or so to get snapped right in as I start to read a new episode. I noted that you sort of did this at the beginning of Chapter 4 and it was particularly helpful to me in this case as I have ‘offline’ for about a week. I encourage to you to fully adopt and maintain this wonderful courtesy for your readers. You’ll notice that several writers do so in their own fiction threads.

Let me also say how much I appreciate (as I’m sure mALX and SubRosa do) your reading and commenting on each or our sagas in the ‘Commentasaurus’ thread. It is gratifying to hear your wonderfully welcome observations!

‘The sound of tumblers falling into place and a slightly squeaky hinge proclaimed success. There was a thunderous crash somewhere on a floor above us, proclaiming the keep was no longer undamaged.’ -- I quote this for two reasons. Firstly, I love your use of sound to obliquely, but clearly tell us, what is happening here – wonderfully done! Secondly, the word ‘proclaim’ is rather distinctive – enough so that when used twice in close proximity it detracts from the stellar quality of this passage. Alternatives for one of the ‘proclaim’ uses might be variations of announce, attest or perhaps declare.

We don’t see a lot of axe fighting descriptions in fanfics here and I really liked your description of Valrimor’s use of one that favored finesse and momentum over brute strength.

And we see Val is quite the skilled thief with a lockpick. Woot! Wine, a bow and plenty of arrows! What else could a wood elven rogue need?

’The dragon announced its culpability with a distant roar.’ – - Again, I love your use of sound to enrich your descriptions!

‘I hated spiders. Ralof actually vocalized his shared opinion.’ – - Val and Ralof have plenty of company among the various characters here at Chorrol! How clever to 'milk' them for poison.

“Poison is a drunken archer’s best friend.” – -

This story continues to be simply a delight to read!


Nits:
You are a bit inconsistent regarding punctuating your dialogue. I recommend Googling ‘dialogue punctuation’, which can shine plenty of light on this rather complex art. Here are a few selected examples from Chapter 4 regarding comma vs period use:
“Damn, that dragon doesn’t give up easy.” said Ralof.’ -- The period after ‘easy’ should be a comma.
“I got it all,” I said to the others, “let’s keep moving.” -- This passage is perfect. The speech tag is effectively inserted in the middle of a sentence of dialogue.
“No.” she replied, “I haven’t seen him since the dragon showed up.” –- The period after ‘No’ should be a comma since you are linking the speech tag to that clause (by not capitalizing ‘she’). Use of a comma or period after ‘replied’ depends on your intent. You could keep the comma after ‘replied’ if you intend the entire passage to be one sentence of dialogue. On the other hand, if you intend the last clause to be a new sentence or statement, you would precede it by a period. Confusing, eh? It was our own SubRosa that really helped me get a handle on dialogue punctuation and, as I implied above, I found that doing some internet research on the subject proved very helpful.

’Looking that the other dead Imperials, I found two more quivers.’ – - (From Chapter 5) I suspect you wanted ‘at’ instead of ‘that’.

Posted by: mALX May 19 2013, 07:02 PM

This last chapter has to be my favorite so far, I could have quoted the whole thing! From Valrimor'd drinking affecting his aim, Ralof's reactions to it, Valrimor's inner dialogue, the "Nord Rush" into battle, using the wine bottle to hold the spider venom - this chapter was AWESOME from beginning to end! A couple edits were missed, but the content was so stunning I didn't care, LOVED this chapter! Totally Awesome Write!

I love your main character's personality a LOT, and you are more than making the familiar tutorial come to life, I am loving this story!

Posted by: SubRosa May 19 2013, 07:21 PM

“If you had anything worth stealing, you would.”
Now Ralof is going to hide the Honningbrew when Val is around!

I loved Ralof's Nordic math in the countdown to three as well!

I agree with Ralof and Val about the spiders. Euch! Too many legs as well. Nothing needs that many legs.

That was a clever use of the wine bottle by Val. I just hope that in his sauced state he does not forget that there is spider venom in there now rather than wine!

Awww, he killed the bear. I was expecting him to use the Bosmer Command Animals power to make the bear an ally.


nits:
“Orders are to wait here until General Tullius arrives{.}” one voice commanded.
That period ought to be a comma, as Acadian noted about a few other sentences. I think the easiest way to understand punctuation of speech is to just pretend the parenthesis are not there. So look at the above as: Orders are to wait here until General Tullius arrives, one voice commanded.

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy May 22 2013, 02:01 AM

Thanks for following the story and for the great comments.

@ Grits - I could never figure out why loot would be lying next to an imprisoned skeleton, so I had to try for something plausable. Thanks for the comment.

@ Acadian - I will be adding a "What has come before..." sentence or two before each new installment. But I really want to thank you for the punctuation advice. I found some very helpful information. At some point, I'll go back and fix everything to date, but future posts should be correct. You help has been invaluable...thanks again.

@ mALX - Thanks and I am glad you have enjoyed this rendition of the tutorial. I hope that future installments can measure up. Thanks again for your very kind words.

@ SubRosa - I considered using the Command Animal ability, but knowing that it was the last enemy they would face, Val would have had to kill it eventually anyway when the spell wore off. In game, I find that I rarely use that ability. Perhaps I should more often. Thanks!

Author's Note - From time to time, I will be posting interludes to provide backstory information. They will be in 3rd person format instead of narrated by Val. Please note the dates on these for reference. Actually, this is why I started putting dates on all of the previous posts, and on future ones as well. This next post is one of those interludes. I do hope you all enjoy it.

4th First Seed, 4E149

Erik sat staring at his flagon of ale. It was his fifth one and the effects were on the verge of causing two flagons to appear where there should be only one. His friend Jonsin was chatting up a particularly attractive she-elf. She was likely Bosmer, based on her size and skin tone. Jon was doing everything he could to convince the elf to come up to the room that he and Erik had rented for the night, while she seemed to be trying to milk him for every possible drink that the inn had to offer. At the moment, her goal was a shot of Cyrodiilic brandy. Jon obliged, and then asked Erik if he wanted one too. Erik declined and took another swig of ale, thinking Jon should really slow down. He had put down twice as many beverages as Erik, and they both had to leave early in the morning. The journey to Bruma would be long enough without a dose of muzziness to make it miserable as well.

The bard that The Merchant’s Inn had hired for this evening’s entertainment left much to be desired. He was playing a lute that was sorely in need of tuning. The crowd did not care. In fact, based on the empty kettle that was supposed to hold tips from the patrons, the crowd didn’t even know he was there. They were too busy gambling or fighting or drinking themselves blind. Imperial City, and the entire Empire for that matter, had changed since the end of the Septim line. It was as if all reason had left mankind and merkind alike. Lawlessness ran rampant in the streets and taverns. The Imperial Legion was spread thin, preparing for a possible attack from the Aldmeri. The City Guards, if one could call them that with a straight face, were second rate soldiers that were corrupt much more often than not. They would turn a blind eye toward thievery and thuggery, as long as you had the coin to buy them.

“Put me down!” said a female voice.

Erik looked up and saw that Jon was carrying the she-elf over his shoulder. She was beating on his back and kicking her legs. He couldn’t tell if her protests were real or feigned from where he sat. So Erik just rolled his eyes and ordered another brew, since it was likely that he should stay away from the room for a while. The bard finished his tune, thanking an audience that failed to acknowledge his existence. He picked up a drum and started tamping out an erratic beat that had no timing at all. Someone in the crowd yelled for him to stop playing, but the bard ignored it and kept trying to find a beat. That was when a very large man walked over to the would-be entertainer, picked up his lute, and smashed it across the back of the bard’s head. The poor fellow collapsed like a bundle of rags. This action elicited an immense brawl at that end of the bar. Erik chose to leave rather than get caught up in this miniature riot. He rose and went upstairs.

When Erik approached the door to their room, he could hear muffled yelling. Occasionally, the words “stop it” and “no” were mixed in. He entered to find Jon on top of the she-elf; having his way with her while she struggled to get out from under him and tried to scream through the palm of his hand. Her eyes were wide with terror, and it was painfully obvious that she was not a willing participant.

“What in the Gods names are you doing, Jon?” Erik yelled.

Jonsin looked over his shoulder with a sweaty grin and said, “You should have come up with me. Now you’ll have to wait your turn.”

Horrified and enraged at the same time, Erik grabbed his friend and violently pulled him off of the elf. Jonsin lost his balance and toppled backward when he tried to stand with his pants around his ankles. His head hit the corner of a dresser on his way down and he did not move at all after that. A pool of blood began forming behind his head.

Erik turned his attention to the elf. She was trying to cover herself with the torn remnants of her dress, her breath coming in short, sharp sobs. He walked toward her to help, but she recoiled.

“Get away from me!” she rasped, with a look that conveyed fear, anger, and shame at the same time.

“I just want to help you. I think Jon is dead. We have to get out of here. I don’t have enough money to bribe a City Guard.”

She looked at Jonsin’s body, then back at Erik. She seemed to be weighing her options. Then her eyes went wide again.

“Stendarr help me! The guards might think I am a…a…a brothel girl! They might even think I killed him!” she exclaimed.

Erik opened the dresser. He grabbed a shirt and some pants and tossed them to the elf.
“Get dressed, quickly,” he said, “You can come with me. We’ll get out of here and I’ll help you get somewhere safe. What’s your name?”

“My name is Ellinar.”



2nd Evening Star, 4E149

Erik looked forward to every visit. Elli had adjusted well to living in Bruma, given the circumstances of her arrival, and her condition. She always had a warm embrace for him when he arrived. If only he could tell her how much his heart sang when she squeezed him that way. He always brought her a bouquet of wildflowers just so he could see that beautiful smile of hers. And of course, he always brought her enough money to live on until his next visit. But this visit was special. During this visit, he would stay with her until her child was born.

Evening Star was a bitterly cold month in Bruma. The journey into the Jeralls was particularly difficult this time, due to the unusual amount of snow this year. The trip out would be equally as difficult, but he would not be leaving as quickly as normal. Perhaps the passes will have thawed out some by the time he left. Snow was beginning to fall again as he prepared to knock on the door to Elli’s house. Suddenly, he heard a scream from inside. Without hesitating, he dropped his customary bouquet while drawing his sword and rushed inside.

Elli was lying on the bed, covered with sweat and clenching the bed sheets in her fists. Her head and back were propped up by several pillows. Her knees were elevated, and there was a woman sitting on a stool at the end of the bed.

“One more push should do it Elli. You’re doing fine,” the woman said.

Elli gave that final push, trying to sit up and forcing another howl through gritted teeth. She hadn’t even noticed that Erik was standing there. He sheathed his sword and held his breath, watching and waiting for the new life to emerge. The wait was short and he heard a tiny cough before the baby began crying. The woman at the end of the bed smiled broadly and exclaimed, “It’s a boy!”

Later that evening, Erik and Elli sat together on the bed. She held the sleeping baby in her arms, swaddled in a wool blanket. Erik was convinced that she had never been more beautiful. Elli caught him staring at her and blushed, then smiled and said, “What?”

“It’s just amazing. I think motherhood becomes you. You are positively glowing,” he replied, returning her smile. “Do you have a name picked out for him?”

She sighed, looking off into an unknown distant place. It was often customary for a first born son to have some derivation of his father’s name. Erik realized that this thought caused Elli pain, and he suddenly wished that he hadn’t asked the question. Then she turned and gave Erik a very serious look.

“Where was…he…from?” she asked.

“Um…Skyrim. Riften, I think,” Erik replied.

She stared off into space again, then blinked and said, “I am going to name him Valrimor, for Valenwood and Skyrim. That is the only acknowledgement I shall give his father, may he rot in Oblivion.”

Erik put his arm around Elli and said, “I think you have done your son justice with that name. It certainly gives more respect to his father than the man deserves.”

Elli turned to Erik and looked up into his eyes, their noses almost touching. She seemed to look deep into Erik’s soul.

“I want you to be his father,” she said, and kissed him.

* * *

22nd Sun’s Dawn, 4E152

Valrimor was sitting on the floor, stacking some small blocks of wood. Elli was watching Erik load a backpack with supplies.

“Must you go? You could stay, you know. Hanreid is looking for help over at Hammer and Axe,” said Elli, pleading her case.

“You know I must go. Working as a bodyguard, I can bring home three times what I could hope to earn in a month as a blacksmith’s apprentice. I will be back in three weeks,” Erik replied.

Valrimor pulled himself up at the corner of the bed and stood on wobbly legs, looking at the two of them. His grey eyes and starkly blond hair gave testimony to his Nordic blood, and at the same time, contradicted his swept back and pointed ears. Suddenly, he said, “Da-da.”

“See?” Elli said, “Val wants you to stay too,” and then she gave that smile that always melted Erik’s heart and batted her eyelashes.

“My love, please don’t make this harder than it need be.”

Erik bent over and picked Valrimor up. He gave the child a hug and kissed him on the cheek.

“You take care of your mother until I get back, little one,” Erik told the boy. Then he placed the child on the bed, hugged and kissed his wife, and promised to return in three weeks.

EDIT - Fixed a math mistake. Fixed a nit.

Posted by: McBadgere May 22 2013, 03:24 AM

Oh aye, I try to catch up and ye post another bit!!... ...Well, I'll have to get back to you on that one... ...

Loved the run through the last section of the Helgen bit...

Obviously happier with a bow and arrow than the axe...Fair dues...

Loved the spiders section and then the need for the bottle sorted with much gusto... ...Like the excellent Subrosa said, let's hope he doesn't forget... ...

And then we're off and running towards destiny...*Gazes off into distance*...And when I say we I mean Val is... ...

Brilliant stuff...

Love it!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

I'll get to yer interludes in good order, sir... ...

Posted by: Acadian May 22 2013, 03:10 PM

What a wonderful scene-setting opening paragraph. I’ll be watching that little she-elf. . .
'Erik looked up and saw that Jon was carrying the she-elf over his shoulder. She was beating on his back and kicking her legs.'
Doh! And here we vividly display a very familiar drawback of being a tiny elf. Grrr! Jon needs to learn that no without giggles means no! Thank Mara that Erik has a basic grasp of chivalry. Ellinar, eh?

As soon as the baby was announced a boy, I suspected we might be witnessing the birth of Valrimor. Very well done!

I really enjoyed these revelations into Val’s background!


Nit? Forgive me if I misunderstand, and just smack me if I’m wrong here:
’His grey eyes and starkly blond hair gave lie to his Nordic blood,’ -- This strikes me that you are saying the blond hair contradicts a Nordic heritage? I would think, perhaps, ‘His grey eyes and starkly blond hair gave testimony to his Nordic blood’?

Posted by: SubRosa May 22 2013, 06:56 PM

On the old news of using Command Animal, cannot you just walk away from the animal near the spell's expiration? It has been a long time since a character of mine has used it, so I do not really remember. So long as you are outside of its aggressive radius, it should not attack you. Or you could just walk through a cell door, since enemies do not follow in Skyrim.

That brings me to something else. Just because something is in the game, that does not mean you are bound to place it in your story. That goes for everything, people, loot items, the layout of areas, etc... Even how spells or racial powers work is entirely up to you. When you write a work of fiction - even a fan fic using a world originally created by others - you make it your world. For example that Command Animal power can work any way you want it to. It can be used as many times a day as you want. It can last as long as you want. It can even be a passive ability that automatically effects every animal Val comes near. No one will send the Spanish Inquisition after you with their fluffy pillows and comfy chairs if you deviate from what Bethesda presented. Make the story your own.

On to current events. Or past events as the interlude reveals. I am guessing that the she-elf (or just shelf for short ) is Val's mother? Too bad for her that his conception was not a happy affair. I thought that fit in very believably with the general aura of lawlessness you portrayed within the Imperial City. The latter was another good touch too. This is clearly not the shiny happy Empire we knew from the days of the Septims. Lesser men sit upon the Ruby Throne, and the rot has trickled down through society.

In the very least, Val had a mother and father who loved him. Now if that is not taking lemons and making lemonade I do not know what is.


nits:
{The} Imperial City, and the entire Empire for that matter,
I think you may have wanted a "The" where I added it above?

Posted by: McBadgere May 24 2013, 04:27 AM

Aw, that's a sad tale right there... ...

Excellent that Erik did the right thing after his...Friend...

And that it turned into love is brilliant...

As these things tend to...I'm guessing that three weeks turned into a lifetime?... ...

An excellent filling in of Valrimor's life...

Looking forward to more...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy May 25 2013, 04:34 PM

It's time for the weekend installment, but first...

@ Acadian - You were absolutely correct with your nit. Thanks for pointing it out, and I used your suggestion of the word "testimony" to correct it. That word fit perfect with the word "contradicted" later in the sentance.

Ellinar, eh?
Am I missing something?

Thanks as well for your comments and compliments. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

@ SubRosa - I do agree with you 100% about changing whatever I see fit with regard to actual game mechanics, and you will encounter this in a future post. As a matter of fact, it concerns using the Command Animal ability, so I'm killing two birds with one stone on that one.

Very good guess on the "shelf" being Val's mom.

Regarding {The} Imperial City, I left out "The" on purpose. Imperial City is how the name is shown on the map as the actual name of the city, and one would not say or write The Oklahoma City or The New York City. Using "the" only works if I am describing the city rather than naming it.

As always, thanks for the compliments and comments

@ McBadgere - Thanks for the applause. As to three weeks becoming a lifetime...well...a lifetime is a very long time, so we'll see...

Thanks again for reading and commenting. Very much appreciated.

Previously... So after giving you all a glimpse into Valrimor's beginnings, it's time to get back to the story. Ralof and Valrimor had fought their way through Imperials, spiders, and a bear to finally reach the exit from underneath Helgen Keep, where Valrimor had collapsed to his back and was laughing at the sky...

17th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

Ralof must have thought I had lost my acorns. I couldn’t help myself. Cramped spaces like tunnels and caves are no place for a Bosmer, especially a claustrophobic one. Add one part of seeing the dragon fly away to two parts lack of pursuit, and then three parts wine; it was the perfect recipe for relief filled laughter. I sat up and caught the Nord staring at me with a worrisome look.

“I’m okay. I’m just glad to be in open space and not worrying about what might be around the next corner,” I told him.

“I can appreciate that, Valrimor, but-”

“Call me Val,” I interjected, “everyone else does. Well, everyone that has known me and remained a friend despite knowing me.”

“Val it shall be then, friend,” Ralof said with a grin, but then became serious again and added, “we need to get moving. While we are currently not being pursued, this area will likely be crawling with Imperials before the sun sets. We are close to Riverwood, and my sister lives there. I’m sure she will help us with a hot meal and a place to rest.”

“Does she have any of that great Skyrim mead that I have heard so much about?” I queried thirstily.

“I’m sure her husband, Hod, has a bottle or three lying around.”

“Well what are we waiting for then?” I said, jumping up and staggering just a smidge while adjusting the backpack, “Let’s get going!”

We started following a pathway that led from the cave. Here at the base of the snow line, scattered patches of snow would occasionally crunch beneath our feet. There were birds chirping, and the wind was sighing through the evergreens. The trees were tall and majestic, like great spruce sentinels guarding the mountainsides. As we walked further down the slope, the forest floor became more verdant, changing from scrub oaks and thorny brush to ferns, grasses, and wildflowers. Closer examination revealed an assortment of fungi and flora suitable for alchemical purposes. This was good to know, but I wouldn’t be doing any harvesting at the moment. Getting to Riverwood for shelter and more libations had top priority.

As we walked, Ralof had been trying to convince me to join the Stormcloak rebellion. I did hate the Thalmor, and therefore by proxy, General Tullius and his troops. However, I chose to remain non-committal. That seemed to be my natural state of existence, non-committal. I had never married nor had children. I never settled into a steady trade or planted roots with a home of my own. It seemed my entire adult life had been an exercise in finding my next source of coin to care for my mother, finding my next drink, or finding my way out of some sort of trouble. Now I had found my way here, to find some sort of meaning to my life.

When we reached the pathway’s terminus at a rough stone roadway, I noticed a large ruin in the distance. It was near the summit of a peak, on the other side of a narrow valley.

“What is that place?” I asked Ralof.

“That is Bleak Falls Barrow. I never understood how my sister could live in the shadow of that place. I guess one just gets used to it after a while,” he replied.

“Why is that? I mean, what bothers you about it?”

“It has ever had naught but evil associated with it. It’s said to be haunted by draugr,” the Nord explained.

I nodded and didn’t question him further. It was enough to know that the place should probably be avoided. We walked on in silence for a bit. Now and again, I would catch a glimpse of a circling hawk, or hear the rustle of a small animal scurrying through the undergrowth. These were like therapeutic balms to my Bosmer senses. The road had become steeper when we reached a sharp switchback, allowing the roadway to hug the mountainside. When we turned the corner, a magnificent vista appeared before us. There was a lake nestled within the valley. A river was draining it and sending the contents northward toward us. On a rocky promontory overlooking the lake were three stone monoliths. When we reached them, Ralof stopped.

“These are the Guardian Stones, three of the thirteen that dot Skyrim’s landscape. See for yourself…” he said, gesturing toward the paved platform they rested on.

I stepped on to the large circular dais and examined the stones. Each had a different design cut into the rock they were made from. Two seemed more weathered than the third. I asked Ralof about this.

“It is said that the stones choose you," the Nord explained, "In some way, it will connect with your spirit. It is imbued with an ancient power. None today completely understand it. The one you see most clearly is the one that is trying to connect with you.”

It showed a hooded man in a crouching pose, and holding a pouch and dagger. As I moved closer, the symbol seemed to become even clearer and more detailed. Gemstones, like stars, began to shine within the etching. I reached out with both hands and touched the sides of the stone. Instantly, beneficent power surged through me. I could see an aquamarine glow shimmering around me. Then just as suddenly, a shaft of teal colored light shot toward the heavens. I felt, rather than heard, a “pop” and it was over. When I released my grip on the stone, all three monoliths appeared equally weathered.

“Thief, eh?” said Ralof, “It’s never too late to take charge of your own fate.”

How does one take charge of fate? It seemed that I had been shoved around by fate my entire life.

“Let’s get moving. I’m getting thirsty,” I said and continued down the road.

The road was following the river northward along the eastern bank. The water wasn’t babbling like the creek in the cave. It was having a full blown argument with the intervening rocks along the way. Now and again, spray found its way to the road on a gust of wind. Ralof was telling me a little more about his sister and Riverwood to pass the time when he was interrupted by the howl of a wolf. We both froze and searched for the source. I saw them, two of them, on a rise ahead of us and to the right. I touched Ralof on the shoulder and motioned for him to stay put. This was my forte. I nocked an arrow and crept silently through the undergrowth at the side of the road for as long as I dared. The wine had worn off, or perhaps it was the effect of the Guardian Stone. Either way, my aim was steady and true. I released the bowstring, nocked another arrow, and had sent it on its way to the second wolf by the time the first one was falling. Both wolves were quickly down and motionless.

“Impressive bow work!” said Ralof.

“Thanks. Let’s get them cleaned.”

The Nord protested, saying we were so close to town now that it would be a shame to stop.

“When a hunter kills, the quarry must be properly cleaned and the carcass disposed of, at least whenever it is practical to do so. It is the Huntsman’s Creed. Right now, it is practical. You can help, or watch, or continue on your way, but these wolves are getting cleaned,” I stated in a tone that would brook no argument.

The Nord did indeed help. Some unfortunate woman must have met up with one of the wolves. There were no human remains in its belly, but there was a silver ring with a garnet stone. Ralof wondered why I would even bother opening the stomach. There was a simple explanation, which I conveyed to him.

“I once witnessed a wolf attack. A whole pack descended on a couple having a romantic walk in the woods. Due to some…uh…local circumstances…I wasn’t able to help them. And there were lots of wolves!” I explained, on my knees as I skinned a wolf, “But I digress. The woman had been wearing some stunning jewelry. When I examined the corpses, it was obvious that her finery had become part of the wolf’s main course. Ever since then, when I kill a wolf, I check for jewelry. You would be surprised how many rooms and ales I have found in wolf guts.”

The Nord just looked at me for a moment, then shook his head and went back to work. When we finished cleaning the animals, I asked Ralof where the river led and he told me northward to a series of falls. That was perfect. I tossed the carcasses and entrails into the river, knowing that if they weren’t devoured by mudcrabs first, the falls would reduce them to fish food. After rinsing the wolf blood from my hands, the task was completed and we set of again for Riverwood.

Posted by: Acadian May 25 2013, 07:45 PM

Old news: Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to confuse regarding Ellinar’s name. Her initial story simply sounded intriguing and I’m glad to see I was right. I guess my question was meant as a segue to my next comment.

*

I’m still liking your brief ‘In our last episode’ comments – especially helpful after pausing for an interlude like you did before this update.

Val’s voice speaks loud and clear in this episode. As a Bosmer, he’s talented with a bow and enjoys the outdoors. His Nordic blood is still chirping about ale, mead and wine however.

’The road was following the river northward along the eastern bank. The water wasn’t babbling like the creek in the cave. It was having a full blown argument with the intervening rocks along the way. Now and again, spray found its way to the road on a gust of wind. Ralof was telling me a little more about his sister and Riverwood to pass the time when he was interrupted by the howl of a wolf.’ - - This is simply a delightful passage that is both wonderfully and creatively descriptive, while implying the passing of some time as the pair travels.

Checking the stomach of a wolf is an interesting (and messy) place to check for loot, but it seems there’s no arguing with Val’s profitable results!

This was a fun update, and I’m with Val – it feels good to be outdoors!

Posted by: SubRosa May 28 2013, 06:47 PM

You are right that there is no "The" on the map. I am used to always seeing it written as http://www.uesp.net/wiki/Oblivion:The_Imperial_City everywhere else though. It is your fiction, so it is your decision on what to use.

Ralof must have thought I had lost my acorns.
This was some nice Bosmer-friendly terminology.

“I’m sure her husband, Hod, has a bottle or three lying around.”
And I am sure Hod will help them drink all their mead...

“It is said that the stones choose you," the Nord explained, "In some way, it will connect with your spirit. It is imbued with an ancient power. None today completely understand it. The one you see most clearly is the one that is trying to connect with you.”
I love Ralof's explanation of how the Stones choose you, rather than the other way around.

How does one take charge of fate?
This seems to be the theme of your story, and I expect will be the key to Val's future.

Posted by: jack cloudy May 30 2013, 07:08 PM

I liked the part where the Stormcloak died. Ralof obviously knew her (well, not her name, but they were comrades of sorts), but Valrimor has entirely nothing in common with her. So Ralof feels bad because she died, while Valrimor feels bad because he can't bring himself to care even though he knows he should. Naturally, he escapes into the bottle. Talk about awkward.

And speaking of bottles, his priorities are very clear throughout. Life first, then booze, then everything else.


I did like the background segment. At first I'd pegged Erik for the father in blood, but it turned out he was the spiritual one. I assume he died on that bodyguard job.

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy May 31 2013, 02:59 AM

It's that time again campers, but first...

@ Acadian - Looking like a Bosmer, and being raised by one, Val definitely does have "Bosmer Pride". But he cannot deny his inner Nord, which is one of the things that has drawn him to Skyrim, and this will...well...that's for another day.

Checking the stomach of a wolf is an interesting (and messy) place to check for loot, but it seems there’s no arguing with Val’s profitable results!
This was my way of explaining how you sometimes find jewelry or coins when you "Search Wolf" in game. It was the most plausible explanation I could come up with.

@ SubRosa - You actually pointed out to me that we, as authors, can really do what whatever we want with our story, when it comes to making changes in the way the game actually plays versus what we want to write. I thank you very much for that , because it led directly to this -

“It is said that the stones choose you," the Nord explained, "In some way, it will connect with your spirit. It is imbued with an ancient power. None today completely understand it. The one you see most clearly is the one that is trying to connect with you.”
I love Ralof's explanation of how the Stones choose you, rather than the other way around.

I am so glad you liked that. I fought with myself more than you can imagine over whether to go that route.

And yes...fate will be key to Val's future...

@ jack cloudy - Welcome back

And speaking of bottles, his priorities are very clear throughout. Life first, then booze, then everything else.
Val does indeed like living long enough to get his next drink.

I did like the background segment. At first I'd pegged Erik for the father in blood, but it turned out he was the spiritual one. I assume he died on that bodyguard job.
I'm glad you enjoyed the interlude. It is the first of several that will answer "why" and "how" questions about Val.

Heartfelt thanks to all of you for continuing to follow Valrimor and for your very kind comments. Now, let's press onward...

Previously - Val and Ralof have been on the road northward from Helgen to Riverwood after their escape from the dragon attack, and had just finished skinning a couple of wolves…

17th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

My companion was accurate when he had said we were very close. Less than an hour’s walk found us rounding a bend to see the town of Riverwood. It was a small town indeed. In fact, the word “town” was probably too grand a title. It was certainly much smaller than Helgen had been. As we entered the hamlet, I noticed there was no gate. What I had thought was a wall surrounding the settlement was merely a thick bulwark with a covered walkway atop it. There were no towers or keep. The architectural style of the buildings was similar to Helgen, with walls of native stone and wood that were topped by steep thatched roofs. The smell of cooking food had entangled itself in tendrils of chimney smoke and caused my stomach to growl. Ralof turned left immediately, saying his sister was probably at the lumber mill. There was an old woman sitting on a porch trying to tell her son that she had seen a dragon. He didn’t believe her, of course.

Little did he know…

The lumber mill was situated on a small island in the river, which had widened and slowed here. The current was still strong enough to push the mill’s waterwheel with ease, allowing the band saw to turn logs into lumber. We rounded the corner to go behind the mill’s main building and found Ralof’s sister standing there. She had her back to us and was rubbing the small of it with hands clad in heavy leather work gloves, as though it may have pained her. She turned to face us when Ralof called her name. What may have once been heart-stopping beauty had given way to years of working a lumber mill, but she was still a pretty woman.

“Brother! Mara’s mercy, it’s good to see you! But is it safe for you to be here? We’ve heard news that Ulfric had been captured.”

“He was…we were…it’s a long story. Can we sit and talk somewhere?” Ralof asked.

“Of course,” she said, and then yelled up to the mill, “Hod! Come down here. I need you for a minute.”

“What is it woman? Sven drunk on the job again?” answered a faceless voice from above.

“Hod, just come here!”

“Ralof!” exclaimed a burly fellow from up at the band saw, “What are you doing here? I’ll be right down!”

The three of us continued walking over to some large tree stumps. Ralof sat on one and I followed his example on another. Gerdur stood facing us with her hands resting on her hips. I resisted the urge to tell her she had a rather large smudge of grime on her face.

“So who is this with you?” she asked, nodding in my direction, “One of your comrades?”

“Not a comrade yet, but he is a friend. I might not be here if not for him.”

“The reverse is closer to the truth,” I interjected, “Your brother has no small part in my ability to meet you here today.”

Just then, a boy ran up with a shaggy dog close at his heels. “Uncle Ralof!” the boy beamed, and then peppered the Nord with rapid-fire questions, “Can I see your axe? How many Imperials have you killed? Do you really know Ulfric Stormcloak?”

“Hush, Frodnar! Let your uncle rest. I want you to go watch the south road. Come find us if you see any Imperials coming,” Gerdur said to the boy in the tone that mothers so often use.

“Look at you, almost a grown man. It won’t be long and you’ll be ready to join the fight. Now be a good soldier and do as your mother tells you,” Uncle Ralof added.

With that, Frodnar gave a stern military salute, and then assured us all that no Imperials would sneak up on us during his watch. He did an about face and ran to the south gate. The dog chased after him, barking support. None of us could suppress chuckles and grins. The burly man from up at the saw joined us then. I assumed it must be Hod.

“Now, Ralof, what’s going on? You two look about done in,” he said.

“I can’t recall the last time I slept,” Ralof began, “The news you heard about Ulfric was true. We were camped near Darkwater Crossing when we were ambushed by Imperials. It was like they knew exactly where we would be. That was…two days ago. The battle was short and we were not victorious. Those of us that survived the skirmish were bound and taken to Helgen this morning. That’s when I met Valrimor here. The Imperials had captured him as well. They must have thought he was with our camp. I thought it was all over for us, Gerdur. They had us lined up for the headsman’s block and ready to start chopping.”

“The cowards,” Gerdur spat with disgust.

“They wouldn’t dare give Ulfric a fair trial,” Ralof explained, “Easier to take his head than try him for treason. A trial would have shown the real truth to all of Skyrim. Anyway, the headsman had already sent one of our comrades to Sovngarde when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, a dragon attacked!”

“You don’t mean a real, live-” Gerdur started to ask in disbelief.

“I know,” Ralof continued, “I’m still having a hard time believing it myself. But it’s true. There is a dragon on the loose in the mountains. As strange as it sounds, that dragon is the reason we are alive now. Valrimor and I managed to slip away during the attack.”

“I wouldn’t call it slipping away,” I added, “Your brother and I got separated and had to dodge the dragon’s attacks until we met up again, then it was one skirmish after another as we made our way to freedom from the underneath of the town.”

Ralof nodded in agreement, and then asked, “Are we really the first to make it to Riverwood?”

“No one else has come up the south road today, as far as I know,” Gerdur replied.

“Good. Maybe we can lay up here for a while. I hate to put your family in danger, but-”

“Speak of it no more, Ralof. You and your friend are welcome to stay as long as you need to. Let me worry about the Imperials,” said Gerdur. She turned to me and continued, “Valrimor, any friend of Ralof’s is a friend of mine. Take this spare key to the house. You are welcome to whatever you may need, within reason. Stay as long as you like. There is one favor you can do for us though. Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun needs to know of this. With a dragon on the loose, the Jarl will need to send defenses to Riverwood. We have no guards of our own. If you would do this, I would be in your debt.”

I placed the key in my breast pocket and gave a slight bow toward our new hostess.

“Thank you, Gerdur,” I replied, “I can do as you ask, but I must rest a bit first, and I’ll need provisions for the journey. I can work for them. I don’t expect you or your family to give me anything."

“I’ll go let them in the house and help them get settled in,” Hod said.

“Help them drink all our mead, you mean,” Gerdur retorted. My ears perked at the mention of mead. Then she continued, “I have to finish up some work here. I’ll see you all at the house.”

With that, Ralof and I stood. He thanked and hugged his sister before we started for the house. When we reached the roadway that divided the settlement, I paused and looked up and down the road. There was an inn called The Sleeping Giant, and a trading post on one side of the road. A blacksmith was located on the other side. Another road headed east out of town, and this was the way Hod and Ralof were presently walking. I quickly rejoined them, ready for the taste of mead to wash over my thirsty lips.

Posted by: mALX May 31 2013, 08:01 PM

Interlude 1:


I did a double take when I saw the character's names, then went back to your comment thanks and saw that this was a time warp from the story - I like that you call them "Interlude," so I'll be alerted that it is a flashback.

Oooh, I am loving that this takes place in Cyrodiil!

This is one of those perfect details that sets the whole scene up - LOVED that whole section of the paragraph!

This next line is great too, it is exactly what one would expect to happen in the aftermath of the Oblivion crisis and the end of the Septim Dynasty:



Reminds me of New Orleans after Katrina hit. Awesome detail there, great thinking!

This segment was fascinating!

Posted by: mALX May 31 2013, 08:03 PM

GAAAAA! This was how Valrimor came to be! What an AWESOME backstory!

Oh dear, I get a bad feeling about him leaving.

Posted by: mALX May 31 2013, 08:04 PM

Chapter 6:

I liked this line, it tells a lot about Valrimor's strength of personality that he hasn't let that ill fate smother the kind side of him. He is an Awesome character!

I had to quote this whole three paragraphs for being outstanding:



How real is that! I absolutely LOVED the detail of this, you have taken the short trip to Riverwood and made it your own in a HUGE way! I remember that wolf attack, scared the crap out of me! The idea of getting the pelts and meat right there - VERY hunterish touch to Valrimor!

Posted by: mALX May 31 2013, 08:20 PM

Chapter 7 – Riverwood

This detail was another perfect one. Riverwood feels like a settlement, not a town - you have an awesome talent for vividly giving a feel of a place with very few descriptive terms, what a gift!



BWAAHAA! I love Valrimor's inner thoughts, he is very humorous!

Awesome Write, all these chapters! I absolutely LOVED the Interlude background on Valrimor, that has to be up among my favorite chapters!

Posted by: Acadian Jun 1 2013, 03:25 PM

Finally, a moment’s rest as Val and Ralof reach Riverwood for a respite and some Nordic hospitality. I see Val is already tasting the mead even before he drinks!

’The smell of cooking food had entangled itself in tendrils of chimney smoke and caused my stomach to growl.’ - - An enchanting description that allowed my stomach to join Val’s in growling.

‘With that, Frodnar gave a stern military salute, and then assured us all that no Imperials would sneak up on us during his watch. He did an about face and ran to the south gate. The dog chased after him, barking support.’ - - This is a delightful touch of humanity and, dare I say, cuteness that is so welcome in this harsh northern land.

Posted by: jack cloudy Jun 2 2013, 09:20 PM

Oh Frodnar, you're so cute when you want to murder people for their political leanings. Too bad you're a pranker, cause I hate prankers.


And having Hadvar/Ralof tell the tale of Helgen and the dragon never get's old. Though I personally like Hadvar's version just a bit better. It must be because he's accused of being drunk. kinda ironic what with Hod hogging the mead and all.

Speaking of which, mead! New experiences and tastes await!

Posted by: Grits Jun 3 2013, 03:09 PM

Interlude: I really like the way you’ve provided some of Val’s background. You’ve shown a bit about Val’s origins, but not too much at once. I’m drawn in and interested in learning more. I also wonder how much Val knows about his violent beginning. That might complicate his relationship with his inner Nord. Very engaging!

Chapter 6: Ralof must have thought I had lost my acorns.
What a delightful expression!

I just love the very Bosmer description of the forest followed immediately by the thought of more libations.

The Thief Stone chose him, neat. The wolf-gut treasure was another great touch. In our house we call that… well, it’s a rude name that includes the only place a wolf might carry a garnet. Yeah, “ear” garnets. Of course in our stories we can ignore the sometimes silly things the game throws our way, but a plausible explanation always makes me grin. (And wish that I’d thought of it! )

Chapter 7: I’m glad you gave such a detailed account of Val and Ralof’s arrival in Riverwood. I’ve always thought Gerdur’s remark that no one else had come up the south road today was particularly grim.

And finally, the mead is almost within reach!

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 3 2013, 07:32 PM

Finally Val is going to have a chance to drink all of Gerdur and Hod's mead!

Now that Val is finally out of immediate danger, I wonder what he might do next? Go to Whiterun to tell http://youtu.be/d-G8w02ZX1c about the dragon? Or strike out on his own? I suspect that nothing is going to happen until the mead start flowing though...

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jun 4 2013, 12:36 PM

Fate has brought us together again, but first...

@ mALX - A heartfelt welcome back mALX! I think I can speak for all when I say you were missed. I'm glad you enjoyed the Interlude as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you very much for your kind comments on it and the chapters that followed.

I remember that wolf attack, scared the crap out of me! -- Me too!

@ Acadian - Val is indeed looking forward to that mead. I chuckled a moment when "cuteness" was preceded with "dare I say". Thank you kind sir!

@ jack cloudy - Were you never a prankster as a kid?

Though I personally like Hadvar's version just a bit better. It must be because he's accused of being drunk. kinda ironic what with Hod hogging the mead and all. -- Oddly enough, I have never chosen the Hadvar side when I've played the game. I guess I'm too much of a rebel at heart.

@ Grits - Welcome back!

The wolf-gut treasure was another great touch. In our house we call that… well, it’s a rude name that includes the only place a wolf might carry a garnet. Yeah, “ear” garnets. -- "ear" garnets!

@ SubRosa - I got two words...Jarl Ballin'! OMG, I was dying when I watched that! And you are correct...nothing is going to happen until the mead starts flowing.

*****

Thanks to all of you for your continued comments and compliments. As always, they mean a lot to me. Let's drink some mead!

Previously - Valrimor and Ralof had finally made it to Riverwood, where they were extended the hospitality of Ralof’s sister, Gerdur…

17th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

The house of Ralof’s brother-in-law was austere, giving no overt hint of either wealth or poverty. It was an L-shaped single story building with no interior walls at all. The space looked much larger than it really was due to the high steep rafters. A dining and cooking area occupied one end. There was a cook pot suspended from a spit that spanned a bed of glowing coals. Ralof went to it straight away and stirred its contents. At the other end of the house were beds and a sitting table. But what caught my attention immediately was a bar, just like one you might see in a tavern, near the back wall. Several bottles, of what I could only assume to be the mead that had been spoken of, beckoned to me from its surface.

“Where is Gerdur keeping the bowls these days, Hod?” Ralof asked.

“In the cupboard there, right side door,” he replied, and then said, “Get some of that rabbit stew. You look like you could use it.”

It took a moment of silence before I realized Hod was speaking to me. I tore my gaze from the bar and said that some stew sounded good. He was motioning for me to sit at the table, and joined me as I did so. Ralof brought over three steaming bowls, and then centered a plate of bread and cheese on the table. All of us began eating heartily. It was some of the best stew I had ever tasted. There were chunks of potato, carrots, leeks, and tomato suspended in thick gravy with large pieces of rabbit. Just the right amount of garlic gave it a little heat.

“Oh my Gods,” Hod said suddenly, and stood up. He went to the cupboard and grabbed three flagons. A small thirsty grin crept to my face, and then vanished just as quickly when he picked up a water pitcher and returned. He filled all of our mugs, apologizing for not remembering drinks as he sat back down. I thanked him and took a sip of water with feigned enjoyment. We ate the rest of our meal in silence. Gerdur entered just as we were finishing up with cleaning the dishes.

“It’s good to see that you men knew where to find the wash pot,” she jibed. Ralof looked at me and winked as she continued, “Now get out of my kitchen and let me finish. Hod, get some mead for my brother and his friend.”

“That sounds wonderful!” I said with a touch too much exuberance, and then finished with a toned down, “Thank you.”

The three of us went over to the bar. Hod stood behind it while Ralof and I pulled up stools and sat. Our bartender set out three ornate steins and dutifully filled each with mead. He handed me an empty bottle and said, “I bet you’ve never had mead like this before.”

I held the bottle in one hand and raised my stein with the other for a taste. It was small, compared to a wine bottle, and it barely filled my stein. The label proclaimed it to be “Honningbrew Mead” in Nordic style script, with a stylized beehive pictured below the writing. The mead rolled over my tongue and I closed my eyes. It was sweeter than what I was used to, but it was damn tasty! By the time I opened my eyes, the stein was half empty. I stopped abruptly when I noticed Hod and Ralof staring at me.

“Did you not get enough water?” Hod asked, and started moving as if he were going for the pitcher.

“Plenty,” I said, reaching out to stop him, “I was just caught off guard by the quality of this mead. It goes down so easy.”

“Aye,” Ralof chimed in, giving me a knowing glance that undoubtedly had to do with wine consumption in the caves beneath Helgen.

The mead went down smoothly indeed. Gerdur had long since retired for the night when Hod stood staring at the bar, dumbfounded. A little over a dozen empty mead bottles littered its surface. I was responsible for at least half of them.

“Wass da matter, broder-in-law?” Ralof asked with slurred curiosity.

“Dares no more mead,” he replied matter-of-factly. Then he shrugged and turned to me as he raised his stein to quaff the last of his mead, “So tree-hugger, what brings you to-”

I reached out and grabbed the arm that was raising his stein, squeezing his wrist hard while I hissed through clenched teeth, “Bosmer. It’s Bosmer, if you please. I’ll thank you to remember that from now on.”

I could feel an inner heat beginning to build along my forearms. Panic replaced my anger, and I quickly released my grip. When I did, I shoved Hod’s arm hard enough to cause him to drop his stein. It crashed to the floor, spilling the last of its contents. The two men were staring at me. Hod looked offended, angrily frowning and clenching his fists. Ralof stood and turned to Hod, swaying slightly as he did so, and put a hand on his shoulder. I didn’t know if it was to calm his brother-in-law or to keep from falling over.

“Don’t mind Varlimor…Vemralor…damn…Val, Hod. He’s,” -hic- “had a rufffff day,” my friend stuttered and slurred in my defense.

“Yeah…what he said,” I added, then stood up and walked toward a bed.



18th Last Seed, 4E 201

My ears started working before my eyes did. I could hear faint sounds grow louder, ever so slowly, when suddenly an excruciating crash jangled every nerve in my body. My eyes snapped open and I sat up. My sight found Hod picking up a broken plate on the other side of the room, at the same time a rush of pain clawed into my head.

“Ugh,” I moaned as I grabbed my head and glanced around.

Someone must have put me in bed. They could have at least taken my boots off…

“Hey Ralof, look who joined the living,” Hod said, giving me a stern scowl.

Ralof poked his head around the corner and said, “Good afternoon, Val.”

Afternoon?

I looked up at the high windows. The light was coming in at a very steep angle, so if it was afternoon, it was not much past midday. The smell of bacon and eggs still hung in the air from breakfast, causing my stomach to roll over. I swung my feet to the floor and grabbed my head again to crush another flare of pain. I picked up the backpack and checked its contents. My wealth was not impressive. There was some rabbit that needed cooking soon, some bread and apples. A couple healing potions, two wine bottles, one of which was not for consumption. Lastly, a leather pouch with a little more than sixty Septims. I rose and shuffled to the dining area. A large plate that was still about half full with cold food sat in the center of the table. I sat down and placed my head in the palms of my hand, fighting off another thudding wave of headache.

“Good stuff, that Honningbrew, eh?” Ralof said with a grin.

“Why is Hod looking at me like I killed his dog?” I asked.

“We’ll worry about that later. Have a bite, then go over to the inn and order an herbal tea. Best cure for muzziness.”

I did as he suggested, eating cold bacon and eggs as my gurgling stomach protested. When I had downed as much as I dared, I rose and headed out, squinting hard as the daylight assaulted my eyes. It took a second for my eyesight to adjust, and for me to get my bearings.

Side road to main road. Inn. That way.

The entrance to the inn was raised above the road level, probably to accommodate a basement for storage. A wooden porch lined the front of the building. There was a bench on it and steps beckoning to the road. I walked up and sat down heavily on the bench. I had some thinking to do.

Okay Val, let’s take stock. You have a little food, and even less money. Gerdur wants you to go to see a Jarl. Ralof wants you to join a rebellion. A dragon wants to incinerate you for no good reason at all! And for toppers, you may have made an enemy of your hostess’s husband. All in all, it’s not one of your better days. Oh yes, and this wonderful headache. You need a plan. You know what happens when you have none.

I needed to clear my head before I could make a plan. I got up and entered The Sleeping Giant Inn.

Posted by: Grits Jun 4 2013, 04:17 PM

I tore my gaze from the bar

Val really picked the right guy to flee Helgen with.

Ralof poked his head around the corner and said, “Good afternoon, Val.”

Oh no! Val has a Nord’s thirst and a Bosmer’s capacity. Plus he may have almost singed his host’s wrist. Yikes!

Of course I’m wondering if Val might have a dragon’s temper or if it’s just his own, but I am quite content to wait and see. I’m enjoying the pace of your story, and the level of detail is to be savored.



Also I feel the need to make stew for dinner... *stomach rumbles*

Posted by: Acadian Jun 5 2013, 02:34 PM

Let me open by again thanking you for following the stories of Buffy, Maxical, Teresa and Grits over on the commentasaurus thread. It is a nostalgic joy to ‘relive’ each of these stories again via your kind and insightful comments to each of us.


This episode opens with a stunningly effective scene-setting description. Not only was it a pleasure to read, but it left me envious of how efficiently you brought us right into the easy to picture home, with its bubbling pot of rabbit stew and tavern-quality bar. I could almost feel the fire, hear the crackle of embers and smell the stew.

Uh oh. Looks like Val can be a grumpy drunk.

I enjoyed when he sat down outside the inn and took stock of his progress so far. Not only a nice summary, but neat to hear how Val views his situation to date.

Oh, a disclaimer if it is not obvious. I do not venture north of Cyrodiil, so what I see and learn of the northern province comes from fics/screens and vids right here at chorrol. The reason I mention it is that my context for Skyfics undoubtedly reflects my lack knowledge as to what is provided by the game (NPCs, locations, quests) and what is created by the writer. It is actually kind of a fun perspective.

Posted by: mALX Jun 5 2013, 07:58 PM

*

I also loved that Val "tore his gaze from the bar" but this line had me in stitches:

Uh oh, tempers' not the way to thank a host for sharing their bed/food/and at least 50% of their mead with him! Urk!

Your descriptive phrases are amazing for scene-setting! One example out of many:


I am loving this story! Awesome Write!


*

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 7 2013, 01:56 AM

I cannot imagine Jarl Ballin' any other way after seeing that vid!

I love it, Ralof goes straight to the stew, and Val straight to the bar!

I see Hod and Gerdur stock quite a bar. Honningbrew!

And there is another tell-tale sign of a temper in Val. Booze and a temper, always a good combination. I bet that is going to get him into trouble in the future.

“Hey Ralof, look who joined the living,” Hod said, giving me a stern scowl.
I can see Val has worn out his welcome.

Posted by: mALX Jun 7 2013, 02:27 AM

OMG, that's what I get for reading the chapter out of my email - I missed this post! What a vid, although they could have cut it off after the third verse, lol. Loved this!

Posted by: McBadgere Jun 7 2013, 04:32 AM

Excellent stuff!!!...

All caught up again...Sorry about that...Miss me?... ... ...

Absolutely loved the journey down from Helgen...The bit with the wolves (very Assassin's Creed III with the Huntsman's Creed™ thing.) I absolutely love the - admittedly slightly grim - rationale for looking in the stomachs...Also, explains why you find jewlery when you kill the wolves and "loot" them...

And the stone-scene was cool...I was usually The Warrior to start with...This is not a shock...Simple man, simple goal...Rob Smaaash!!... ...

OOoh yeah, the Bosmer thing, being soothed by the wildlife and the bow work were cool touches too...

Riverwood was a brilliantly done chapter...Still loving the way you weave the in-game stuff with yer own...Fantastic stuff, truly...*Applauds*...

The Mead chapter™ was also excellent...From the description of the room (something I also loved in the previous chapter about the titular town) to the meal and the drink...While it's actually very detailed, it's also so brief, and I am in absolute envy of your ability...I know damned well that it would take me half a chapter to do the same... ...

It's sad that Val managed to slightly lose his temper, but understandably so...Host or not, casual racism - even if it was without true malice - is never good...

Such good writing, loving it...

Apologies for getting so far behind...Definitely enjoyed reading so much in one go though...Brilliant stuff!!...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jun 7 2013, 01:32 PM

Well, it only took 8 chapters, but the calendar finally clicked over to the next day. I am truly pleased that you all are enjoying the level of detail. I was a little concerned that it might be dragging the story out too much (8 chapters to tell of events that all happened the same day), so if it does get too boggy, let me know.

@ Everyone - A very gracious thanks for all of your very kind comments. They mean a lot an inspire me to keep going.

@ Grits - Val definitely wrestles with his temper, regardless of where it came from (I'm glad you are content to wait and see).

Oh no! Val has a Nord’s thirst and a Bosmer’s capacity. -- Great observation! You nailed it.

@ Acadian - The pleasure is all mine to provide the nostalgic joy you referred to. The stories are really fun to read.

I do not venture north of Cyrodiil, so what I see and learn of the northern province comes from fics/screens and vids right here at chorrol. -- This touches on why I write in so much detail. I shouldn't assume that all of the readers have played the game, although I do know that many have. This also gives me the idea of adding screenies, like SubRosa does in her story. Perhaps I will in upcoming chapters.

@ mALX - I am so glad that you got a kick out of Val's disappointment that water would be served with dinner. I wanted to balance the dark segment that was coming with some humor.

@ SubRosa - My wife does not play the game (probably because it isn't a Facebook App ). So I showed her the Jarl in game, then showed her the Jarl Ballin' video. She was rolling! Thanks again for sharing that.

And there is another tell-tale sign of a temper in Val. Booze and a temper, always a good combination. I bet that is going to get him into trouble in the future. -- Probably a good bet...

@ McBadgere - Welcome back! Glad to see you got a break from silage harvesting to have some quiet time reading.

All caught up again...Sorry about that...Miss me? and Apologies for getting so far behind... -- Never have to apologize for RL events. Trust me, I know how it is to have a heavy work schedule. Of course we all missed you m8.

***

Once again, thanks for following Valrimor. Now here is some weekend reading for you all. I hope you enjoy...

Previously - After a nice hot meal and what turned out to be too much mead, Val faced the following day with a hangover and scowls from Hod, whom he had offended the previous night. He was about to cure his hangover and make some plans at The Sleeping Giant Inn…

18th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

The main hall of the inn was dominated by a huge fire pit running down the center of the room. Tables and benches were lined against the walls, which were decorated with various animal pelts. The floor also had pelts serving as throw rugs here and there. Candles, set deep in hollowed cattle horns, were in sconces on every pillar, and also in chandeliers high among the rafters. Each table also had its own candle in a horn. All in all, it made for a cozy atmosphere. A bard at one end of the room was lightly tapping out a beat on a tight skinned drum. The serving bar was at the other end. A man, presumably the barkeep, was cleaning the bar top and a woman had just entered the hall from another doorway that may have led to the kitchen. As I approached the bar, the woman seemed to be demanding the barkeep’s attention.

“Orgnar, are you listening to me?” she asked.

“Hard not to,” the barkeep, who I now knew to be Orgnar, replied.

“The ale is going bad. We need a new batch,” the woman proclaimed.

Ale is going bad? How does someone let that happen?

“Did you hear me?” she asked.

“Sure did. Ale’s goin’ bad,” Orgnar said as he continued to wipe down the bar.

“I guess you don’t have potatoes in your ears after all. Just make sure you get another batch in soon,” the woman demanded. With that she turned and walked away. I pulled up a stool and sat at the bar, and then asked Orgnar how much a cup of herbal tea cost.

“Thirty-one Septims,” he replied.

Half of my gold. I am poorer than I realized.

My head made the decision without me and ordered one. While he was away, I tried to concentrate. It was no use until this headache was gone. Orgnar returned with my tea and I laid the coins on the bar. Thirty-one Septims paid for a large flagon of the tea.

“Drink it all down, if you want that muzziness to go away fast,” he advised. He seemed to be a less than happy fellow, which was just as well, for I was not in a chatting mood. I rose and took my beverage to one of the tables. The tea did indeed have an amazing effect. By the time it was gone, I felt as though my late breakfast might stay put, and my headache had eased considerably. The bard had switched from his drum to a fife, but I was too deep in thought by then to appreciate his talent.

Ok, first things first. As usual, I have to fix whatever happened last night. Ugh! Then, before I do any favors for sisters, I need some coin. Let’s try not to resort to thievery. Remember the jail in Kvatch? Let’s get it honestly for a change. Ralof’s revolution has to wait too. Get the whole story first. That means lose the Stormcloak garb. I have the wolf pelts and there is a smith in town. I could get some decent leathers.

Suddenly, the bard began singing a song that interrupted my thinking and froze my breath. I had never heard the words until now, but the tune could not have been more familiar if I had composed it myself.

We drink to our youth, to days come and gone.
For the age of aggression, is just about done.

My mother used to hum that tune to me as a child. As the lyrics went on, I thought that maybe I was mistaken. Surely this revolution hadn’t been going on for fifty years. She never sang the song, but the tune was unmistakable. A dark depression began to wrap its black arms around my heart. I shook my head to fend it off.

Stop thinking about it. The song will be finished soon. There is too much ale and mead here for you to start thinking about your mother. Focus. Let’s review. Fix mess. Get coin. Lose Stormcloak label. See the blacksmith. Not necessarily in that order. That’s the plan.

I stood and returned Orgnar’s flagon to him, thanked him, and left the inn. I planned my speech during the walk back to Gerdur’s house.

Oh how I hate this…

By the time I got to the door, I had it well rehearsed and knew exactly what I would say to them. I walked in the door and they were at the dining table.

“Ok. Hod, Ralof, have a seat,” I said. They looked up at me from their chairs, puzzled.

“Good,” I continued, “listen, here’s the deal. I drink. I like to drink. It is my…never mind…I like to drink and that’s that. When I do, I don’t always behave as I should, or would normally if I were sober. Am I making sense? Anyway, I am going to stay at the inn so I don’t cause you any more trouble. It’s better that way.”

The two looked at each other, then Hod said, “No hard feelings Valrimor, but perhaps you are right. For aiding Ralof, Gerdur has made it clear that you are welcome to anything within reason. What you did last night was not within reason, especially after I had shown you my hospitality and shared my mead.”

Ouch. It’s always like this. I made the bed, so I have to sleep in it. This would be easier if I could remember what I did.

“I know, Hod. I am truly sorry,” I said, and then I turned to Ralof, “About your rebellion, perhaps I will go to Windhelm one day. But it won’t be today, or tomorrow. This armor belonged to your former comrade,” I gestured to what I was wearing, “I will leave it with you if you wish. Otherwise, I am going to sell it and purchase something that doesn’t label me with either side.”

“Gunjar would want its owner to use it as he or she saw fit. It is yours to sell if you chose to do so. Hopefully I will see you in Windhelm. The rebellion could use a man like you, if you can stay clear headed enough,” Ralof said with conviction.

“Ok, there is one last thing I need. If I don’t get to tell her myself, please thank Gerdur for me and tell her I will make it to the Jarl as soon as I am able,” I told them, and then I saluted Ralof in the manner I had seen his nephew use, and left the house.

There. As apologies go, that was pretty mild. Remember the house mother at that brothel in Leyawiin?

My next destination was the blacksmith. I could hear the clanking of hammer on steel, so I walked to the forge at the side of the building. A very muscular Nord was there, pounding the sparks out of a rod of red hot iron. He introduced himself as Alvor, and bragged that he could make a war hammer that would crack a giant’s skull like a walnut. I had spent many a day working for blacksmiths all over Cyrodiil, so I knew my way around a forge. Of course, that day’s wages often went to a night of merry-making. Then I would be too worn out and muzzy the next day and would get sacked by the smith.

I asked Alvor if he had any work that needed to be done around the shop. He needed some daggers and helmets made and said I could keep one of each as payment. I told him I would prefer coins over goods. He was fine with that, so I spent the rest of that afternoon working at the anvil, grindstone, and fitting bench. When I had finished the work he needed, Alvor allowed me to use the forge and bench for personal use. He traded tanned leather for my wolf pelts and some gold. I made myself a good set of leathers and was finished about an hour after sunset.

Since much of our business was based on trade and barter, I didn’t leave Alvor’s shop with much more coin than I had arrived with. I went back to the inn hoping that I had enough for a room. Orgnar instructed me to see Delphine, the woman that was brow-beating him during my first visit. She was at an alchemy table mixing up powdered ingredients for some type of potion. I apologized for interrupting and inquired about a room. She said a room would cost ten gold pieces for a day and a night. I paid her and she showed me to my room. It didn’t leave me any drinking money, but that was probably a good thing because I was exhausted. I hadn’t put in an afternoon at a smith’s shop in a long time. Muscles that I forgot I had were reminding me of their presence. I undressed and cleaned up at the wash basin. Looking at my bed, I realized that this wasn’t much of a room for the price.

You’ve slept in much worse many times.

I retired for the night with my plans rolling over in my thoughts, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

***

EDIT: Nit picked.

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 7 2013, 05:39 PM

He seemed to be a less than happy fellow
If you had to put with Delphine, you would not be either!

I liked how the tune to the song was familiar to Val from decades before, even though the words had been changed. That is how folk songs stay in a culture, like Over The Hills and Far Away, which I have seen several different sets of lyrics for.

Well at least Val manned up and said he was sorry for whatever it was he did the last night. Looks like he has experience at that. He certainly has his share of character flaws! That is a good thing mind you. Perfect characters are boring. The ones with issues are the ones people can connect with, because they are as imperfect as those of us reading. Plus it is always inspiring to watch them grow and (hopefully) overcome their problems.

Posted by: Grits Jun 8 2013, 01:21 PM

Ale is going bad? How does someone let that happen?

I’ve thought the same thing. How is ale left to go bad? This is Skyrim!

Sounds like Val has a lot of experience with apologies. I like the natural way you are revealing Val’s character, the negatives along with the more endearing aspects. As SubRosa said it’s often the flaws that make a character really connect with readers.

I particularly enjoyed the way Val handled getting out from under the Stormcloak label. Despite his troubled heart and drunken behavior (and history of thievery) he does not seem to be an anti-social person.

Fix mess. Get coin. Lose Stormcloak label. See the blacksmith. Not necessarily in that order. That’s the plan.

Done and done. I can’t find fault with Val’s work ethic!

Posted by: Acadian Jun 8 2013, 02:45 PM

No worries on your level of detail. I think my record was nine episodes to cover one particularly busy day during the Tournament of Archers. I expect I’m not alone in endorsing that the journey is more important than the destination.


Another wonderfully descriptive, scene-setting opening paragraph that pops us right into the tavern.

A very clever way of revealing Val’s age! Merely a young elf in his fifties it seems. I’m with Grits in liking and chuckling over his sound plan of action.

“Ok. Hod, Ralof, have a seat,” I said. They looked up at me from their chairs, puzzled.’ - - Heh, here you elegantly display the problem with over rehearsing a ‘speech’ to the point of losing the ability to adjust when the venue would so dictate. Nicely done!

’There. As apologies go, that was pretty mild. Remember the house mother at that brothel in Leyawiin?’ - - What a delightfully teasing hint at another misadventure where alcohol was undoubtedly involved!

And an afternoon of hard, honest work at the forge to garner some leathers and a bit of gold. All in all, a good day!


Nit: ‘I didn’t leave the Alvor’s shop with much more coin than I had arrived with.’ - - You don’t want ‘the’ preceding ‘Alvor’s shop’ I’m sure.

Posted by: mALX Jun 9 2013, 05:38 AM

On how long it takes in chapters to cover one day - I know exactly what you mean. 3 weeks can take three months of reading sometimes, and I've had to keep writing the time that has passed, afraid someone might think it was years, lol.

I like the way Val cleans up his messes as he goes so there are no burnt bridges left behind. Also liked his references to troubles he'd gotten into in Cyrodiil!

His skills are tremendous, he is def an asset to whichever side he gets on if he ever does choose. I think my favorite part of this chapter was his aching muscles after working at the Smithy's - that little detail added in brings the reality home perfectly! Awesome Write!

PS - if you are about to read chapter 5 on my story, if you can hold off a few days I have been re-writing it - just had a few things happen in RL since I started, and didn't get the re-write finished. Sorry about that, I'll try to hurry myself.

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jun 12 2013, 04:08 AM

Let me start by apologizing for not getting to post in The Commentasaurus thread this week. RL prevented me from doing so, but I will get back at it on Sunday.

@ SubRosa - I am glad you can appreciate Valrimor's short-comings. I agree that perfectly behaved characters can be perfectly boring.

...like Over The Hills and Far Away, which I have seen several different sets of lyrics for. -- One of my favorite Led Zeppelin tunes!

@ Grits - I agree! Ale should never go bad in Skyrim!

Despite his troubled heart and drunken behavior (and history of thievery) he does not seem to be an anti-social person. -- Indeed, as long as he is sober...

@ Acadian - Good catch on the nit and appreciated. It has been picked.

A very clever way of revealing Val’s age! Merely a young elf in his fifties it seems. -- Actually, the math had already been given in the Interlude when he was born, but I'm glad you liked that.

@ mALX - Val does try to clean up before moving on...or sometimes he just gets out of Dodge!

...Also liked his references to troubles he'd gotten into in Cyrodiil! -- Mostly a result of the author having loved the other game too.

*****

Thanks again to all of you for your great comments, compliments, and continued following. Here is the next installment...

*****

Previously - Valrimor had cured his hangover and devised a set of plans to get started with his new life in Skyrim. He had made a “to do” list and was well on his way to completing it…

19th Last Seed, 4E 201

My room at The Sleeping Giant only had a few small windows set high on the wall above the head of my bed. When I awoke, scant light was coming in through them, and I was unable to discern whether or not the sun had fully risen yet. So I just lay there, reflecting on my plans. I had accomplished three of my four goals. I was down to the last one…get coin. Normally, this would require less than a full day’s “work”. But I had promised myself yesterday that I would try to gain the funds I needed honestly…legally. How to do that?

Hunt…

Hunting was probably my best bet. It played to my strengths, as I have had to stay keen with my bow skills. More often than not, it provided my food when I traveled. After bagging some deer, I could tan the hides of my kills and sell the leather, or even better, make armor and sell that instead. It seemed like a lot of work.

Concoct...

Alchemy was another option. I had certainly seen plenty of alchemical reagents during my walk from Helgen’s back door to Riverwood. And where one mushroom grows, so do more. I would have to ask Orgnar about using the inn’s alchemy table. This was certainly less strenuous than hunting and working at the forge, assuming there was a local demand for potions.

Time’s-a-wastin’…

With that thought, I rose, splashed some water from the basin on my face, and got dressed. The main hall was deserted, except for Orgnar behind the bar. The unmistakable aroma of bacon hung on the air, whetting my appetite. Delphine was talking to Orgnar from the kitchen. All I caught of it was something about the Riverwood Trader being robbed. Taking a seat, I ordered some bacon, cheese, and toasted bread with a glass of milk. There were breadsticks in a ceramic crock on the bar, so I helped myself to one and waited for my food. Orgnar soon returned with my order.

“I heard you talking to Delphine yesterday about some ale going bad,” I said to kick off a conversation while I ate.

“Yep, it’s turned alright. I already have a batch that I started a few weeks ago. Should be ready to serve in a couple days,” he replied, in his usual monotone and to-the-point style.

“So you brew your own ale then?” I asked.

“All of the inns in Skyrim brew their own ale. It doesn’t have the shelf life that wine and mead do. So having it shipped in is dodgy,” Orgnar explained, “The ales that are shipped over distance are quite hoppy and tend to the bitter side. An acquired taste for sure.”

“That’s interesting. So the selection of ales must be widely varied here in Skyrim,” I said, reaching for my milk to wash down some toast.

“Indeed. In the larger cities, the variety of ales, wines, and meads available to the palate of the discerning drinker is immense,” Orgnar said, “Right now, all I have on hand is my own brew, Sleeping Giant Ale. Up north, where temperatures stay much colder year round, they brew lagers and pilsners as well. It doesn’t stay cold enough in my cellar, so I only brew ale.”

There are lagers and pilsners in the cities to the north?

My mouth was watering. I had heard tell of these beers, but never tasted either one. Brewing ale could possibly be another source of income, or at least save me from spending as much money in taverns. Not for the immediate future, but certainly a consideration once I had a foothold here. For now, I needed to change the subject so I could get moving.

“So, Orgnar, is anyone around here looking for some hired help?”

“As a matter of fact, some of the Jarl’s men were passing through and left this notice with me,” he replied while rummaging under the bar. Then he handed me a wrinkled sheet of paper and said, “Here, check this out.”

The note stated that there was a reward for taking care of a bandit problem at a place called Valtheim Keep. I could ask the Jarl about it when I go to see him about the dragon, but that didn’t help my immediate situation.

“Do you need this back?” I asked.

“Keep it. No one around here is going that far down river.”

I folded the note and put it in my breast pocket, and then stood and asked, “What do I owe you for breakfast?”

“It comes with the room,” he replied.

As I turned to leave, the alchemy table caught my eye.

“One more thing,” I said, “can anyone use that alchemy table?”

“It works like this. You pay a two Septim fee per elixir. That covers the cost of the vials and lets me have a little pocket money. Clean up after yourself when you are done. Of course, you pay for any damage caused by explosions,” Orgnar replied. I bade him thanks and went out into the morning sun.

It occurred to me that, even though I had used it several times, I had never thoroughly examined my weaponry. I sat on the bench outside the inn and spun my quiver around to inspect my arrows. They were of low quality with iron heads.

The Empire sure did skimp when it came to outfitting their archers.

Two of the arrows were warped and useless. Three more needed some adjustment to the fletching. That left me nineteen acceptable shots. I turned my attention to the bow. It was just a simple long bow. Again, low quality, but serviceable. Either way, it would have to do until I could afford better. I stood and started toward the south entrance of the settlement. I was starting to get into a hunting frame of mind when the sign for The Riverwood Trader squeaked on its chain and caught my attention. Then I remembered what Delphine had said. Out of curiosity, I stepped into the shop, and apparently at a bad time.

“Well one of us has to do something!” a woman yelled at a man behind the counter, presumably the shopkeeper.

“I said no!” the man railed back at her, “No adventures! No theatrics! No thief-chasing!”

“Well what are you going to do then, huh? Let’s hear it!”

“We are done talking about this!” he yelled, and then noticed I had walked into the shop, “Oh, a customer. Sorry you had to hear that.”

The woman turned toward me, her face still full of fury, and then stomped off to a table near the fireplace and sat without saying anything else. I walked up to the counter and said, “No worries.”

“Welcome to the Riverwood Trader. I’m Lucan Valerius, proprietor and ever the target of my sister’s ire. I don’t know what you may have heard, but we are still open. Feel free to shop.”

“Well sir, it is about what I have heard that brought me in. Delphine was telling Orgnar this morning that the Riverwood Trader had been robbed,” I told him.

“Yes, it’s true. Damn thieves! They must have picked the door lock. Only one item was stolen. They left behind all of these treasures as if they were mere trinkets,” he said, spreading his arms as if to present his wares, “As I said, feel free to shop.”

I looked around the shop from where I stood. It was small by most standards, but there were several shelves filled with all manner of bric-a-brac. Some of it was useful, some of it not so much. I did notice some traveling gear.

“What was it they stole?” I asked, turning back to face Lucan.

“It was an ornament, a golden ornament in the shape of a dragon’s claw,” he replied.

“Was it worth a lot?” I pressed, while my mind turned this into a possible business venture.

“I have never had it appraised, but I would think so.”

“Would it be worth a lot to have someone retrieve it for you?” I queried, making my pitch.

“I do have some extra coin,” he mused, and then asked, “Would you be willing to try?”

“I would at that. But I can’t leave today. Alas, I am strapped for cash and will need to build my assets over the next week or so, to allow for the purchase of provisions…” I bemoaned, letting the words trail off and dropping a hint at the same time.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll pay half up front if you will leave today. I’ll even throw in a bedroll,” he offered, taking the bait.

“You, my good man, have a deal,” I said with a smile, “Now, what can you tell me about these thieves? Any detail can help.”

“I can tell you where you will most likely find them. They will be in one of two places, either Embershard Mine or Bleak Falls Barrow.”

Bleak Falls Barrow was the place Ralof had showed to me, up on the mountain.

What was it he had said? Naught but evil…haunted by draugr…

“I know where the barrow is. Where is this mine?” I asked.

“If you head out of Riverwood to the south, you will eventually see some steps going up a hill to your left. Follow them and it will take you straight to the mine,” Lucan directed as he tossed a small sack of coins on the counter, “Here’s half. You can have that bedroll over there on the shelf.”

I took the money and bedroll, said a farewell to the two of them, and left the shop. I stopped at Alvor’s, hoping to purchase a better bow and a few more arrows. Unfortunately, I was still short of cash for the fine hunting bow that he had for sale. So I resigned to make do with what I had, adding five more arrows to my quiver to make my arsenal an even two dozen.

This was going to work out perfectly. I had promised myself that I would not steal to gain cash, but now I was going to steal anyway. Now I was going to rob some thieves.

****

EDIT - Nits picked.

Posted by: Acadian Jun 12 2013, 03:54 PM

My knowledge of ales, beers and meads is embarrassingly limited to the ability to properly spell ‘Budweiser Clydesdales’. Therefore, I found the lesson on ales very interesting. And, no doubt of great interest to Val as he daydreams of retiring to brew his own ale!

Val was very smooth as he parlayed the trader’s theft into a bedroll, small bag of gold and a paying task.

I like that you seem to limit his quiver capacity, and think that the quantity you use is sound. Quite some time ago, I adopted 25 as a max quiver capacity.

So, it looks like Val is off for a dungeon crawl. Hopefully, he’ll survive and even find that missing dragon claw. I'm anxious to see the tactics he'll use without dragons in his face or Nords to babysit at his side (assuming that he's going solo).


Nit? Not sure if it’s intentional or not that the last two letter of this episode’s title are of a smaller font than the rest of the title.

Nit: ’So I just laid there, reflecting on my plans.’ - - Here you want lay vs laid. The verbs lay vs lie are quite confusing. To lay is to place something and requires an object. To lie is to recline. To make things much more confusing, the past of lay is laid, while the past tense of lie is lay. Googling ‘lay vs lie’ can generate some clarity on sorting out the differences of this complex little brain twister. One such site that can explain this better than I, and includes a little chart is here: http://www.writersdigest.com/online-editor/lay-vs-lie

Posted by: mALX Jun 14 2013, 11:03 PM

I've been unable to get over here to read till today - first the electrical storm knocking down our power, then the tornado warning yesterday - what free time I've had I've been working on that mod all week finding the issue with the water not showing up and fixing it numerous times (just to have the issue still there, lol) - fixed now.

Over the weekend I'm going to be catching up my reading, so won't be able to do the re-write on chapter 5 of my story. I hate to ask, but can you give me another week before reading my story? I am so sorry for the delay, and will send you a PM as soon as it is up so you can get to it in your leisure - I apologize, and so appreciate your patience in both my delays in reading your latest chapter and keeping up with my updates on mine for you. Thank you. <3

Posted by: jack cloudy Jun 16 2013, 08:03 PM

Hohoho, looks like Hod didn't need to help with drinking all the mead. But what happened that got them all so upset with drunk Val? I doubt it was the kitchenware.


It's nice to see him try a 'legal' way of making money and even more nice to see some planning and preparation. Like Acadian, I like the low number of arrows and how some were tossed out for being lousy. Ingame I end up hoarding the things (seriously, it's too much effort to remove them from my inventory) I remember not having that much of a problem in the day archery was nearly impossible to use and the arrows weighed a ton. But now? Why bother?

But for Val, less arrows is better. It keeps him light on his feet. Besides, he's Bosmer. He'll make every shot count.

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 16 2013, 08:44 PM

here are lagers and pilsners in the cities to the north?
And probably Nords and Imperials, and other races too! Seriously, you gave us a nice discussion about the realities of brewing in Skyrim, something I never really thought about before.

Of course, you pay for any damage caused by explosions,”


Interesting thing about the iron arrowheads. The famous bodkin arrowheads that the Welsh/English Longbowmen used which have been recovered have had iron heads. The only steel heads found have been broad-bladed ones, more for hunting than war.

Well, at least Val found an honest way to make some coin, and less strenuous than chopping wood or digging up ore. Though a mite bit more dangerous than picking flowers and shooting deer either. Still, if he lives through Embershard and Bleak Falls, he'll likely be set for cash for some time!

Posted by: Grits Jun 17 2013, 03:09 AM

I enjoyed Orgnar’s brewing discussion. I’m not such a fan of IPA, so I’d be ordering a pint of the Giant.

I love how Lucan presented the likely bandit hideouts. You’ve given this scene the comfortably familiar feeling but brought it to life with no trace of zero-weight arrows or quest markers. Very fun to read.

This was going to work out perfectly.

Uh oh. I know what happens whenever I say something like that!

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jun 17 2013, 03:18 AM

First things first...Thanks to everyone for commenting and following along. I appreciate it very much.

@ Acadian - Thank you so much for the lay vs. lie vs. laid vs. lay stuff! Very helpful indeed! And good catch as well on the font in the title...it was an oops. Both nits fixed.

I like that you seem to limit his quiver capacity...
This is one thing about the game mechanics that I have always disliked. The fact that arrows and coins have no weight makes no sense.

@ mALX - I am glad that you have regained that sparkly juice that we all take for granted (electricity) and that the tornadoes missed BFE TN. No apologies needed and I'll look forward to your PM. Just good to hear that you and yours made it through the weather safe and sound.

@ jack cloudy - Yes indeed, Val is quite the capable drinker...just needs to control his temper.

Ingame I end up hoarding the things (seriously, it's too much effort to remove them from my inventory)
I am just the opposite. I RP rather diligently, so I make it a point to limit myself to two dozen. I would gladly add mods that give weight to arrows and coins, but I haven't bothered to look for them yet. I am sure there are some out there.

@ SubRosa - I have not researched arrow types, and perhaps I should, since I did go to the trouble to research bows. I have merely been going by the damage value in-game to gauge quality.

Seriously, you gave us a nice discussion about the realities of brewing in Skyrim, something I never really thought about before.
This is a direct by-product of my Bro-In-Law brewing his own beer. I have learned a lot about different types of beers by helping him out. Being a taste tester has its perks too!

@ Grits - Nor am I a fan of IPA, and I'm pleased that you know what it is! I couldn't use the term IPA in the discussion because there is no India in Tamriel. So I just had to call it "hoppy".

Uh oh. I know what happens whenever I say something like that!
Same here!

**********
On to today's installment...

Previously - After overhearing Delphine tell Orgnar about a robbery at The Riverwood Trader, Val had decided to investigate. This in turn led to an agreement with Lucan Valerius to bring the stolen Golden Claw back to its owner…
**********

19th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

I paused for a moment on my way out of Riverwood. It had become a beautiful late summer day. There are those down in Cyrodiil that would consider this weather autumnal, but cooler weather has never bothered me that much. A light breeze was whispering through the spruce boughs. Seeds with white feathery sails rode the air currents. I inhaled deeply and relished the fresh air scented with pine. I continued south on the road until I reached the steps that Lucan had directed me toward. I was enjoying the day so much that I made the turn off the road as casually as anyone taking an afternoon stroll. The steps wound up the hill, bending to my right. When I topped the rise, I heard a deep voice yell, “Hey!”

I barely had time to unsling my bow and get an arrow nocked before a rather large orc had closed half the distance between us. I shot while back pedaling down the stairs, so my aim was not true. The arrow clanked off of an iron pauldron covering his left shoulder and did nothing to slow my attacker. Fortune was with me however, as the bandit lost his balance on the top step while preparing to swing his mace. I side-stepped and watched the orc tumble past while I nocked a second arrow. He came to rest with his back against a tree, and I let the arrow fly. The iron head found his center mass, penetrating a weak spot in his armor. The orc let out a brief cry before my next shot shattered the bridge of his nose, silencing any chance for further calls of alarm. He was effectively pinned to the tree like a notice on a bulletin board.

Val, you idiot! Were you going to knock on the door with your bow on your back as well?

Thankful for not losing my life to carelessness, I continued toward the mine entrance more slowly with an arrow nocked to my bowstring. Fortunately, there were no other guards standing watch outside. The entrance itself was a set of double doors with a small window in each one. I peeked through one, hoping to see what was on the other side, but all I could make out was the glow of a torch. Gingerly, I pushed one of the doors. It didn’t move, so I pushed harder. It was still frozen in place. Pushing on the other door ended with the same result. Neither would budge no matter how hard I pushed. I reached toward my breast pocket for a lock pick, and then stopped when I noticed there was no keyhole.

A locked door with no lock? It must latch on the inside…

I stared at the unyielding entrance, perplexed. I considered knocking, but dismissed that as foolish because more than one person might answer. After a moment of further thought on the matter, I decided to try and pry my way in with my dagger, hopefully by lifting the latch with the blade. I held one door handle with my left hand and used my right to apply pressure between doors with the point of the dagger. The blade wouldn’t penetrate the crack. I released the door handle so I could use both hands on the hilt of the dagger, but my bracer strap caught on the knob…and pulled the door open.

Are you kidding me?

I looked over my shoulder, unconsciously checking for witnesses to my stupidity, and then entered the mine. As soon as I did so, an all too familiar claustrophobia set in.

Gods, I hate being underground…

I pulled my wine bottle from my backpack and took a healthy pull to calm my nerves. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, so I had another swig and put it away. The only light was coming from a torch, set in a sconce near a cart, and some meager daylight from the doorway windows. The mineshaft sloped downward almost immediately. The cart was sitting at the top of a wooden track that paralleled the walkway. I listened carefully for sounds of activity. Not hearing any, I crept forward, doing my best to ignore the feeling that the walls were closing in on me.

If this was indeed a bandit lair, as the assailant tacked to the tree outside proposed, then there would be traps. Lighting was provided by torches set in sconces spaced far enough apart that seeing the ground between them was not easy. That would make spotting any traps just as difficult. Bandits tended to place trip lines or pressure plates near the entrance to their lairs. These particular thieves proved to be no different, but also showed ineptness at setting them, as a poorly placed trip line was plainly visible in the torchlight from a nearby sconce. It traversed the walkway, but not the cart track, so I merely walked around the end of the thing. The shaft turned left and appeared to lead into a larger chamber almost immediately. The echoes of trickling water danced off the walls. I froze when I heard voices.

“Aren’t you worried that someone will wander in here? This place isn’t exactly hidden, you know,” said a seemingly concerned denizen.

"Are we going over this again? I told you we have someone standing guard out there, and don’t forget about the rock trap. So don’t worry, and get some rest. Your shift is coming up and I don’t want you dozing off like last time!”

Little did the second voice realize that the guard was now decorating a tree trunk and his rock trap had been avoided with ease. I crept in a little closer. Directly in front of me, there was a wooden catwalk leading into the cavern. In the dim light, I could make out the silhouette of someone that had come up some stairs at the other end. He had turned away from me, heading into another passage on the other side of the chamber. Looking around, I could see the water below the catwalk. There was a fire down in the area that the bandit had come from. A couple bedrolls lay near it, and one appeared occupied. Suddenly, movement caught my eye. There was another silhouette, standing backlit in an opening that was higher and to the left of where the first had disappeared into the shadows.

Is this the same man? I wish I could see better!

The man turned around and walked away. A few seconds later, a bandit reappeared at the end of the catwalk. He was coming across! I drew my bowstring back and waited. But then he stopped, waited a few seconds, and returned the way he came. I let off on the bow, exhaling as quietly as I could.

It has to be the same guy. He is making his rounds…guard duty.

I acted quickly. I got the bottle of spider venom from my backpack and anointed the head of the arrow. I had it nocked and ready when the bandit guard reappeared in the other opening. I drew back and shot. I could not follow the flight in the dim lighting, but grinned as I heard the bandit grunt. A second later, he fell and did not move again.

One down…

Creeping out onto the catwalk, I kept an arrow nocked and tensed against my bowstring. Using every bit of my skill, I made it all the way to the stairs that led down to the camp area.

“What was that?” inquired a voice from below, and I saw a man rise from a bedroll. He reclined again, permanently, with some assistance from my bow. I looked and listened intently for any indication of other bandits in the area. Satisfied there were none, I continued deeper into the mine.

Discipline Val…keep going until you have them all…

I continued using this strategy, classic sneak and snipe, with perfect success. The drawback was that it was very time consuming and very tiring. By the time I had dispatched the remaining thieves and reached the opening at the other end of the mine, I was exhausted, hungry, and thirsty. Darkness had fallen outside the mine, and I still had to search corpses, cabinets, sacks, and barrels, to find that claw. If I had my tent, I would camp outside the rear entrance of the mine, but such was not the case. All I had was the bedroll and I was too tired to build a lean-to.

I went back into the mine, grabbed the first torch I came to, and retraced my steps back to what had been the obvious hub of activity in this lair. This was in the main cavern, where there was a well banked forge and other smith’s equipment. Up some stairs and across some catwalks were storage areas and a sleeping area. I went to a storeroom and found some bread and apples. I ate a quick meal, washed down by a couple of ales.

Gotta hand it to thieves, they always have some ale around…

I returned to the sleeping area and looked at the bedrolls. As a rule, bandits were a notoriously unhygienic lot. I decided to sleep on top of a bedroll rather than in it. This way I could leave my bedroll bundled for a quick escape if need be. I would search for the claw after a nap. With the aid of the ales that I had found and consumed, sleep came quickly.

**********
EDIT - Picked some self-discovered nits.

Posted by: mALX Jun 17 2013, 06:58 AM

Chapter 10 - Val has a lot of skills to tap for resources, very impressive guy!

The details on the making of beers/ales - very interesting details there, also Val's musings on his equipment. Geez, I hate to see him tackle Bleak Falls Barrow with only a bow and 24 arrows! Urk!


Chapter 11 -

I especially liked Val's early bumbling on going in, first not being prepared - but the door had me in stitches!

LOVE Val's sneak and strike methods with the bow, very well written so it could be visually imagined as he went through! I liked his musings on the lack of hygiene among bandits, lol. Always thought the same myself. Really enjoyed this chapter, Val's way of going through the bandit lair quietly striking was so interesting and intriguing, I loved it !!
He and Buffy both fight from a vantage point and stay out of sight, very cool imagery !!

Awesome Write, both chapters - and I so apologize for getting behind, between the storms and that mod I have really gotten behind on everyone and feel terrible about it!

Posted by: Acadian Jun 17 2013, 08:49 PM

Another wonderfully captivating opening paragraph that teases all the senses. With a twist – Val was so entranced by the day he wandered right up to the cave! After his near miss with the orc and difficulty opening the door, I was getting worried that perhaps he was getting in over his head (easy for a Bosmer to do). Fortunately, his Bosmeri bow and stealth abilities helped him safely clear out the bandits. Val needs a ‘dispel cooties’ spell to cast on strange bedrolls – very handy.

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 17 2013, 09:36 PM

Arrowheads actually tend to be pretty simple. They fall into two basic categories. There are broad-heads, which are best for unarmored targets like peasants or game. Then narrow-points like bodkins, which are made for piercing armor. Or at least have the right design to pierce armor. The aforementioned English bodkins were not really great for armored targets because they were made of iron instead of tempered steel. It should be noted that modern re creationists using English Longbows and bodkin arrows always use steel tipped arrows, which naturally work quite well against steel armor, but of course are historically inaccurate. The English Longbowman had to get really close to an armored opponent to get a successful arrow shot. For example at Agincourt the French had to advance on foot, uphill, through the mud, and the English archery still failed to stop them. The archers only turned the tide of the battle when they dropped their bows and joined in the melee with axes.

Of course the ES universe has a much wider scope of materials available for an archer. Where RL tends to just have iron or steel (and in a few cases bone or stone). I can imagine a broad-headed ebony arrow going through a steel breastplate like tissue paper. Or likewise a steel bodkin shattering on a glass breastplate.

There are a lot of different specific designs to the two types of heads of course. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Cr%C3%A9cy-en-Ponthieu_24-09-2008_12-11-33.JPG gives some ideas, with armor-piercers at the top, broad-heads the bottom, and a sort of middle of the road head in between. Do some googling and you will find a lot more. Teresa used those middle leaf-shaped points early in her career, then later when she upgraded to elven steel moved to swallowtails (the very bottom).

Another interesting thing about the arrow shafts themselves, is that while many cultures used the standard three straight lines of fletching, some folks actually put the fletching on in a spiral pattern. That caused the arrow to spin just like rifling in a gun barrel, and made it more accurate.

In the TF I have the Imperials doing their fletching the standard way, and the Bosmer using the spiral pattern. I really did not use the regular bows from the game, like steel, silver, dwarven, etc... I only used two types. The longbow for the standard Imperial bow, and the composite bow (the Hunnish Bow to be more accurate) for the Bosmer design. In Morrowind they have chitin bows, but the story never went there. Other provinces would likely have their own special materials in the TF as well. I just never explored them.

*Phew*, on to the story now!

“Hey!”
Oops, Val's idyllic stroll through the countryside has led him right into a viper's nest! I had to laugh at the poor orc though, losing his footing on the steps and falling! Easy enough to believe though.

Then of course I was smiling at poor Val as the dastardly door stymied him. At least until his bracer intervened!

Perhaps Val should learn a low yield shock spell for bedroll bugs?

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Jun 19 2013, 12:26 AM

Right. I have some catching up to do! Shame on me!

Chapter Four: Odd twist of fate alright. Looks like someone ate a nice dose of payback as Ralof took care of her! You know, I have to confess that I am starting to like Valrimor. He's just one of those characters that stick to you and is fun to read about. His sarcasm, as an example, is wonderful!

The name of the chapter . . . I can only read it with a sexy deep voice. Yes . . . closer . . . into the bowels.

Chapter five: Imperials, and spiders, and bears. I can see where this is going.

A relief that he found some arrows, and an Imperial bow from the archer. He won't be needing that any longer

"More for me."

Damn right!

The battle was well-written and I loved Valrimor's self monologue and the bear scene. Shot the thing in her hind quarters with spider venom. It is potent stuff, indeed!

Interlude: My writing style of often like this. I personally enjoy it that way. I just find the use of first person narration difficult, but it certainly gives us a tale through the eyes of the character.

Now, what I love about this chapter here was a good description of what the world was like after the fall of the septims. War is out there and the world is left a nastier place than it was before. Though going by lore, corruption of guards and authorities have always been in the ES. Especially in the Waterfront District in the Imperial City, and I am quite sure everywhere else would have the fare shares of dirty guards. But you're spot on that war creates chaos, and breeds thievery and murder and bandits!

Here we see tavern brawls, broken lutes and Cyrodiilic brandy! Ah . . . a tavern is a tavern, isn't it? No matter where you go! Hehe!

So we get a glimpse of his mother, eh? Awesome. More backstory on his character and history that I've been dying to see. I will return to continue and catch up on him! Enjoying read so far!

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jun 21 2013, 02:25 AM

First things first...

@ mALX - You needn't apologize for getting behind. RL has a terrible habit of biting our backsides when we would rather it didn't. I'm just glad that normalcy has returned to your neck of the woods. Thanks so much for continuing to follow the story.

Geez, I hate to see him tackle Bleak Falls Barrow with only a bow and 24 arrows! Urk! -- Fear not...Of course, Val has no idea yet, but there will be plenty of ancient Nordic arrows for him to pick up in Bleak Falls Barrow.

@ Acadian - Val did indeed have his senses teased as well, almost to a fault! I loved the quip about being in over his head being easy for a Bosmer. Thank you for the compliment on the opening.

Val needs a ‘dispel cooties’ spell to cast on strange bedrolls – very handy. -- A potion would be more Val's speed (Tamrielic Rid-A-Bug?)

@ SubRosa - Wow Ms. Rosa! You have given a wealth of arrowhead information, and it has pointed me to some very interesting articles on the history of such. Thanks so much!

I had to laugh at the poor orc though, losing his footing on the steps and falling! Easy enough to believe though. -- I know...I have always pictured orc bandits as big bumbling buffoons. Strong in the extreme, but not very coordinated or intelligent.

@ Darkness Eternal - Welcome back and thank you for rejoining!

Interlude: My writing style of often like this. I personally enjoy it that way. I just find the use of first person narration difficult, but it certainly gives us a tale through the eyes of the character. -- The main reason I write in first person is exactly that. I find it easier to relate the protagonist’s feelings in first person. But I wanted the Interludes to be third person because Val is not relating the story. And speaking of Interludes...

**********

Thanks again to all of you for your kind words. This next installment will be another Interlude. To save you from having to go back and look at the dates on the first one, I'll tell you that Val is 3 in the first part and 7 in the second part...so here goes...I hope you enjoy it.

AUTHORS NOTE - This post has been edited from its original issue. I need to thank SubRosa for her invaluable help in resolving a "head-hopping" POV in the narrative. I have edited this to reflect the changes that she so helpfully pointed out. You rock SubRosa!

**********

16th Last Seed, 4E153

Valrimor sat at the table, scribbling with a piece of charcoal on the back side of an old copy of The Black Horse Courier. Elli was doing some cleaning around the house, and dusting was the task at hand.

“Ma?” he said to his mother, in the way that young children do before they pose a question.

“Yes, son?”

“Where’s my da?”

The question came when Ellinar was utterly unprepared for it, and completely defenseless. Her heart suddenly ached again, as it had every night for the past year and a half. Tears began to well in her eyes, and she had to turn away, feigning that she had gotten some dust in them.

“He’s away on a job,” she replied.

“What’s a job?” Val asked.

Elli sighed, pausing a moment to ponder explaining a job in terms that Val could understand, and then said, “It’s what people do to earn money, so they can buy food and clothes.”

“Oh,” he said, and returned to his masterpiece, adding a swirl here and a jagged line there. Without looking up from his work, the boy asked another question.

“When is he coming home?”

Now tears trickled down Elli’s cheeks. Her bottom lip quivered and her voice broke a bit when she answered him, “Soon, son. Very soon, I hope.”

“Good,” said Val, then held up his work of art with a proud smile, “Look ma!”

Elli wiped her eyes and turned toward her son. She wished that the boy looked like Erik, and then felt that familiar pang of guilt she got every time she had such thoughts. She did her best to put on a prideful smile and told Val that it was beautiful.



21st First Seed, 4E157

The mage watched the boy with keen interest. The child was playing with a squirrel. No, playing wasn’t accurate. He was having the squirrel play for him. Of course the mage was aware of the Bosmer ability to command animals, but he had never seen a display like this. The boy was making the squirrel perform tricks and then rewarding it with pine nuts.

“Are you watching this, Varnel?” the mage asked his apprentice.

“Yes indeed, Master. I have never seen the ability used that way before,” Varnel replied, and then asked, “Shall we locate the parents?”

“I do believe so. I would be curious to see if his command of other forms of Magicka is equally as keen,” replied the mage.

Varnel stopped a passing woman and inquired as to where they might find the child’s parents. The woman pointed to a house just a few doors down. The mage directed Varnel to go and get the parents while he stayed and watched the boy further. The Altmer did as the mage requested, while the squirrel completed a double back flip.

“That is truly impressive, young mer,” said the mage, clapping his hands softly.





Valrimor had decided to go outside and play. His mother was in one of her sad moods and she wasn’t much fun when she was like that. He walked up the street to see if his friend could play, but Lang was busy with chores. So Val went to his favorite alone place. It was a rock outcropping behind Hammer & Axe. He sat on the rock and waited for Bushy. It was a squirrel that he had taken to playing with when no one else could play, named for its big bushy tail. Some time back, Val had figured out that he was able to control animals with some sort of thinking trick. It wasn’t long before the squirrel showed up and Val tossed it a pine nut. Then he concentrated real hard and made Bushy do a flip, tossing another nut to it as a reward. After a few more flips and somersaults, Val was smiling and feeling better. Suddenly, he heard clapping. He looked up and saw a hooded man applauding the squirrel.

“That is truly impressive, young mer,” said the man.

“Who are you?” asked Val. The man had a kindly look, with a crooked smile and a light in his eyes.

“My name is Tolfdir,” the man replied, then continued, “It is amazing, what you can get that squirrel to do. Can you do other things with Magicka?”

“I made Bushy run up Miss Armelia’s skirt once, but I got in trouble for that,” said Val.

“No, I meant other Magicka, besides playing with animals.”





Meanwhile, Varnel arrived at the house that the woman had indicated. He was about to knock on the door, secretly hoping that no one would be home. He was not fond of Bosmeri folk. His uncle had been killed by a rebellious tree-hugger when The Dominion had taken over Valenwood. But the Altmer apprentice would not jeopardize his standing by refusing a task from Master Tolfdir, so he dutifully knocked. A Bosmer lady answered the door. She looked as if she may have been crying, but her eyes widened when she saw who had knocked.

“What do the Thalmor want at this house?” she asked contemptuously, sneering on the word “Thalmor”.

“I am not here as a representative of The Dominion, ma’am. I am here at the behest of Master Tolfdir. He would like to speak with you about your boy,” Varnel replied, doing his best to keep a civil tongue after her snide salutation.

“What about him?” Elli asked, and stepped past the Altmer to look for Val. She saw him talking to a man in a hooded robe. “Who is that?”

“That is Master Tolf-”

“Val! Get over here, son,” Elli yelled.

Valrimor started toward his mother with Tolfdir on his heels, and Elli started to move toward Val. The Altmer apprentice grabbed Elli’s arm and said, “Ma’am, we just-”

“Get your hands off me you piece of Aldmeri dung!” raged Ellinar.

Varnel’s hand shot out and slapped Elli’s face hard enough to knock her down. He looked over toward Tolfdir to apologize, but noticed the boy instead. The child was staring at him with daggers for eyes, and blue-white balls of sparks were dancing in his palms.





Valrimor was about to answer Tolfdir’s question about using Magicka when he heard the unmistakable voice of his mother.

“Val, get over here son,” she yelled from near their house.

There was a tall golden skinned elf in a robe similar to Tolfdir’s standing near her. Val stood and excused himself politely as he started walking toward his mother. The tall elf grabbed his mother’s arm and she pulled away abruptly, saying something to the elf. Suddenly, he saw the elf hit his mother and all reason left him. He was enraged in a way that he had never known in his young life. He let out a feral howl as he raised his arms. Lightning shot from both hands in undulating ribbons of blue-white fire. Sparkling tendrils had formed at the ends of the bolts. They had completely wrapped the Altmer’s head, dancing in and out of his eyes and ears. Varnel’s mouth opened in a scream of pain while sparks arced between his teeth. The rest of his body stood rigid as a post.





Tolfdir had asked the boy if he could do other things with Magicka. The young mer responded that he had made the squirrel run up a lady’s skirt once. Chuckling a bit at the thought of it, Tolfdir told the boy that he meant other types of Magicka besides using his Command Animal ability. The boy was about to answer when a woman called out.

“Val, get over here son,” the woman yelled, undoubtedly the boy’s mother.

The boy, whom he now knew to be Val, excused himself politely and started walking toward the woman and Varnel. The mage followed him, looking forward to meeting his mother. Suddenly, the mage saw Varnel strike the woman, knocking her down. Everything else happened so fast that Tolfdir was caught completely by surprise. The boy had let out a yell and raised his arms. Before he knew it, his Altmer apprentice was being shocked to death by an astonishing display of concentrated lightning coming from Val’s outstretched hands. Tolfdir watched in horror for a moment and then gathered his wits enough to cast a Drain Magicka spell at the boy, but he was too late. When the lightning finally stopped, Varnel fell as a puppet whose strings had been severed. He lay with his scorched, eyeless skull gazing toward the sky. The boy seemed to come back to himself and looked at what he had done. He started crying hysterically. When his mother reached him, he jumped into her arms and sobbed uncontrollably.

“I didn’t mean to ma!” he cried into her shoulder.




22nd First Seed, 4E157

Elli’s heart jumped when she heard the knock at the door. It would be the City Guards, come to take the two of them before the magistrate. Because the boy was so young, she would have to answer for his acts. She turned to her son and told him to just sit still and stay quiet, no matter what happened. Valrimor just nodded, with a look of fear and uncertainty. She opened the door, but was surprised to see that it was Tolfdir instead of the Bruma guards.

“Go away! You’ve caused enough harm,” Elli said, and started to close the door. Tolfdir stopped it with a firm hand. Val tensed in his chair.

“Please miss, allow me to enter. I mean no harm to you or the boy. We need to talk,” said Tolfdir.

Reluctantly, Elli gave way, but she admonished the mage against any ill intent and finished by saying, “Remember your friend.”

“He was not my friend,” Tolfdir said as he looked for a seat, “he was my student. I am an instructor at the College of Winterhold.”

“What is it you want with my son?” Elli asked.

“I did not travel all this way just for your son, miss…”

“Ellinar,” she said.

“Ellinar, we came in search of possible candidates for the College. Enrollment is way down ever since the unfortunate disaster in Winterhold. As a matter of fact, going all the way back to the Oblivion Crisis, practice of the arcane arts has fallen off all across Tamriel. This is of great concern to the Arch-Mage at the College. He fears that Tamriel is at risk of not being able to defend herself against daedra or some new arcane threat. So he sent me and my apprentice to recruit likely students. Your son fits that bill, especially after his display yesterday.”

Elli took a moment to absorb all that she had just heard, and then asked, “How much will it cost?”

“Only applicants pay tuition. There is no charge for candidates that we actively recruit. Your only cost would be emotional, as you would not be able to accompany him,” Tolfdir replied.

This held weight with Elli, on both sides of the scale. On the one hand, she would miss Val terribly, even if the boy was looking more and more like her rapist. She wasn’t sure if she could bear the loss of her one remaining true love. On the other hand, money was very tight. She was working as a serving girl and maid at Olav’s Tap and Tack, barely making enough to feed them both. She had gone without on some nights just so her son could eat. He would be well provided for at the College.

Valrimor had been listening to all of this, and when he sensed that his mother was seriously considering it, he spoke up, “You want me to go to a school and learn how to do what I did yesterday?” Panic was creeping into his voice. He turned to his mother then and begged, “Don’t make me go, ma. I made that man burnt and dead. I don’t ever want to do that again. I don’t want to learn how. Please don’t make me go!”

Elli went to her son and held him. Tolfdir looked at them both and tried to further his case.

“I don’t want to teach you how, boy. I want to teach you control. You seem to already have a grasp on the how part,” said the mage.

“It only happens when he is angry,” said Elli, “He doesn’t even realize he is doing it.” She related instances of burned toys and flying dishes that occurred in Val’s early years, and then finished with, “Yesterday was the first time it has happened in several years. I thought he was past it, or had learned to control it. It was definitely the first time it has ever been directed at a person.”

Tolfdir continued to press, speaking directly to Val, “I can teach you control. I can help you make sure that you never repeat what happened yesterday.”

“NO!” Val yelled, “I won’t do it. I won’t ever use that again, not even to learn how not to!”

Tolfdir rested his elbow in one hand and stroked his beard with the other for a minute, and then stood and gave a slight bow to the two of them. He went to the door, and then turned to face them again.

“Valrimor, I’ll not force you. Should you ever change your mind, you come to the College of Winterhold and request an audience with Master Tolfdir. Regardless of how far in the future that may be, I can help you, but only if and when you want that help.” said the mage. He turned to Elli and said, “You need not worry about the magistrate. I have spoken to him and informed him that I would not be pressing charges. I placed all of the blame solely on Varnel’s shoulders. Good day.”

With that, Tolfdir left. Val looked at his mother and promised that he would never do it again. Elli just hugged him and said, “I know, son.”

But she knew better. He had his father’s temper.

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 21 2013, 10:02 PM

I love the idea of using an old Black Horse Courier for coloring paper! How perfect!

I see Val's mother is not ready to tell him the truth yet. I suspect that story will be a long time coming.

Tolfdir! Yay, how nice to meet my favorite absent-minded wizard from Skyrim.

Well things did not go well with Varnel. Looks like Val has had issues with controlling his emotions for a long time. Not that anyone is sorry for seeing an Altmer being killed after all. I suspect most of the Bruma guard simply said good riddance...



nits:
You have fallen into the trap of head-hopping, which many people not used to writing third person tend to do. What I mean is that you are showing us the inner dialogue of multiple characters in the same scene. For example, near the beginning of the Second Part we are privy to Varnel's inner thoughts about his brother being slain by Bosmer rebels. Then later in the same piece we are privy to Valrimor's thoughts as he sees Varnel hit his mother.

Now there are basically two different perspectives you can use when writing Third Person. There is Third Person Omniscient Perspective, where the audience knows what every character is thinking. Then there is Third Person Limited, where the reader only knows what a single character is thinking. Basically try to imagine your story as a movie. With Limited Perspective, you only have one camera and microphone, and they are mounted in the head of your narrative character. So the readers see, hear, think, feel, et... whatever that character alone does. But they do not know these things about anyone else. Omniscient is like Monday Night Football, where there are cameras and microphones everywhere, covering every angle of the action from everyone in the stadium. I suggest steering clear of Omniscient, as it just does not read well for many reasons, not in the least because in real life no one knows what everyone is thinking and feeling. We can only guess these things.

Now you can use more than one viewpoint character when writing Third Person Limited. However you need to end the scene completely before you switch viewpoint characters. The reason is that every time you switch viewpoints, it jars the reader. When a scene ends that is less of an issue than when you are in the middle of a scene. In the middle of a scene it is called head-hopping, and it is confusing to the reader.

Posted by: jack cloudy Jun 22 2013, 08:30 PM

More flashbacky goodness! It's a shame Val takes after his father I suppose. That's gotta be unpleasant when they get the 'talk'. Although, I don't remember if they had the 'talk' before Val went to Skyrim.


The best part for me wasn't the emotional heartache however, or even the trauma Val got. The best part was how this flashback serves as a setup for another tool in Val's arsenal. Now if he uses magic in the future it won't feel like something pulled out of thin air. (granted, it had been mentioned before already, but actually seeing is better than just being told about it.)


And I too like Tolfdir. Maybe we'll get to see more of him at some point?

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jun 23 2013, 03:49 AM

There is now an author's note at the beginning of the latest post. This is due to the nit that SubRosa pointed out to me. My apologies to Jack for the corrections coming after his reading. And I'll take this opportunity to thank SubRosa again for her wonderful assistance.

Posted by: Grits Jun 23 2013, 02:42 PM

Embershard:

The door antics had me laughing. If the bandits put a “Push” sign up they might not need a guard.

It was good to see Val settle his nerves in the old Nord way and then carefully proceed in the Bosmer manner. I like how he used the poison on the guard who could have alerted the other.

Ugh, and now he has to ransack the whole place. Hopefully he will find something to make the trip worth his while (and not too much more ale or he might need another nap).

Interlude 2:

I particularly liked Elli’s guilt over her thoughts about young Val’s appearance. While her heart aches for Erik her beloved son reminds her of her attacker.

Oh, and now we see that Val’s temper has always been a part of him. Yikes. And he has an open invitation to the College, but he hasn’t really considered going there. I wonder if he’ll change his mind.

Posted by: mALX Jun 23 2013, 02:59 PM

Val making the squirrels do tricks - absolutely had to love this scene, what a huge idea to show other uses for the magic that a child might think up to entertain themselves! Real worldbuilding there, I love it!

Your description of Varnel's electrocution was AWESOME !!! It doesn't get better than that, LOVED how you wrote how the shock spell worked - and explained Val's not wanting that book in the dungeon!

Val's burnt toys was a touch of humor in perspective of his out of control anger - loved that, it reminded me of my own son's XBox controller getting thrown a few times, lol.

Whoa, a temper like his father - very powerful ending line !!!

Awesome Write, I loved this chapter!

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Jun 24 2013, 01:29 AM

Time to officially catch up.

Chapter 6:

Out in the open, and on a path to Riverwood. Good to know Val made a real friend out of Ralov of Riverwood. I enjoyed the description of the flora and fauna here, and how our protagonist can relate somewhat to it. To him, its all natural.

We also get a glimpse of the barrow and the creatures within. I have a feeling our protagonist may just pay a visit to this lair and find himself under its shadow, too.

The Huntsman Creed. I'll have to remember that.

Chapter 7: We get some Nord warmth at last in a cozy home.

I must applaud your writing her. You certainly are no amateur when it comes to detailed writing and the young Stomcloak boy who's well on his way on almost becoming a little soldier

You did well to add and expand upon that part of the tale, and once again I clap in the good prose and style of writing. Simple yet detailed and great enough to keep us entertained. With Valrimor, this certainly is made possible!

Chapter 8: This made me hungry.

Nord/Mer Hangover! You should have a mini side plot for that

After that near death experience at the Headsman's axe and a rough and perilous escape, some mead is good right about now( I know he had some wine back at Helgen, though, but not to this degree). Doesn't matter where in Nirn you go, heavy drinking almost certainly always leads to brawls. Don't call Val a tree hugger!

Chapter 9: Ah. The inner workings of turmoil in a character's mind. This I like! You did well here. Characters with flaws and problems of their own makes us sympathize more with them. He did good to apologize. And I have a creeping feeling he's going to get into more trouble with his drinking problem. We're in Skyrim, Val, drinking ale and wine to Nords is as normal and regular as breathing. Ale is Skyrim's water!

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jun 25 2013, 04:11 AM

First things first...

@ SubRosa - I love the idea of using an old Black Horse Courier for coloring paper! How perfect! -- What else are they good for? I actualy got the idea watching my step-son color on a kiddie placemat when we went out for dinner a while back.

I've already said it a couple times, but I have to thank you again for your help with "head-hopping". You ROCK!

@ jack cloudy - More flashbacky goodness! -- Thanks! I find that I am really enjoying writing the Interludes. It makes me think outside the box.

@ Grits - If the bandits put a “Push” sign up they might not need a guard. -- To borrow a mALX-ism, there was a near Mt. Dew SPEW when I read that! Glad you enjoyed the door fiasco, and thanks!

@ mALX - LOVED how you wrote how the shock spell worked - and explained Val's not wanting that book in the dungeon! -- Thanks so much! That dungeon flashback was actually the inspiration for this whole chapter.

@ Darkness Eternal - Time to officially catch up. -- And you're almost there! Thanks for sticking with it and for your most kind comments.

Thanks again everyone! Now, back to the story...

Previously: Valrimor had cleared Embershard Mine of bandits, leaving none alive, and was getting a well deserved nap after his sneaking and sniping…

20th Last Seed, 4E 201

After my rest, it took me several hours to search Embershard Mine for Lucan’s claw. Unfortunately, the artifact still eluded me, but the search itself proved to be quite lucrative. I was able to leave the mine with considerably more coin than I entered with, along with several gems that I was sure would bring a nice price. It was impossible to haul out every saleable item in one trip. But if necessary, I could return for more.

I returned to Riverwood almost a full twenty-four hours from the time I had left Lucan’s shop, and The Riverwood Trader was my first destination now that I was back. I wanted to give my employer an update, as well as turn the gems I had found into coins. He was standing behind the counter when I entered, and seemed eager to hear what I had to say.

“I’m glad to see you back in one piece. So tell me, did you find those damned thieves?” he inquired.

“Well, I did find thieves. But apparently they were not the ones responsible for stealing your artifact. I searched every nook and cranny in Embershard Mine. There was no claw to be found. However, I did find these,” I said as I placed several gemstones on his counter.

“Nice! Very nice indeed!” he said, holding one up to a lantern and peering through it.

“Would you care to buy them? I need more cash to better equip myself before I head out for Bleak Falls Barrow and continue the search for your claw,” I asked, emphasizing the incentive for him to purchase the stones.

“Certainly, I’ll give you two hundred Septims for the lot,” Lucan offered.

It was less than I had hoped for, but I agreed to Lucan’s price. He paid me, and after telling him that I would be making a fresh start in the morning for the barrow, I bade him a good day and left the shop. I went straight to Alvor’s to purchase the hunting bow that I had been coveting. Between the gold that Lucan had paid for the gems, and the additional coin I garnered for selling a few pieces of fur armor to Alvor, I now had plenty of cash for the bow and additional arrows to restock my quiver. The hunting bow was nothing close to the quality of my own Elven bow, which was undoubtedly now part of the ruins of Helgen. However, it was substantially better than the long bow I had been using. First of all, the limbs had recurves. Also, the nocks for the bowstring were clad in steel. The long bow had been one single piece of wood, but this bow had separate limbs connected at a riser, with an arrow rest and a leather clad grip. Alvor even threw in a couple spare bowstrings and let me test the bow first behind his shop. I shot three arrows in rapid succession. All three flew true and hit within an inch of each other, clustered in the bulls-eye of the target. Extremely pleased with my new acquisition, I left the shop.

It was another gorgeous day and I suddenly had the urge for a walk in the woods. I could use the rest of the afternoon to harvest for an evening alchemy session, and perhaps even bag a deer. Few things in life are better than an afternoon stroll through a forest. The abundance of life, the aroma of wildflowers and pine, and the thrill of a hunt all have a quickening effect on my heart and will invariably bring a smile to my lips. I was already grinning with a spring in my step when I left the settlement.



Later that evening I was seated at a table in The Sleeping Giant. I mopped up the last of my stew from my bowl with a piece of bread, ate it, and chased it down with the last of my wine. The bard was singing an ode to someone named Ragnar the Red. Orgnar passed by and I requisitioned another goblet of wine. Minutes later, he returned with it and took my dishes back with him. The wine was a dry white with a slight smokey undertone. It was delicious indeed.

The day had been a good one. I had elevated my status from destitute to nearly solvent. My sojourn into the woods had led to a deer kill and a fine harvest of various fungi and flora. I was able to barter the deer hide and some coin into a full set of camping gear. I also had made good use of the inn’s alchemy table, concocting some healing potions and some poisons to replace the spider venom I had used in the mine. I sat back in my chair with a smile as the bard concluded his song with a line about Ragnar’s red head rolling on a floor. Gulping down the rest of the goblet, I rose and headed to my room for a good night’s sleep. There was no telling what tomorrow’s trek might bring, so rest seemed the wise choice regardless of how good the wine tasted.



21st Last Seed, 4E 201

The morning was grey and chilly. Low hanging clouds obscured the summits of the nearby mountains. The damp air threatened rain as I left the inn and headed north along the main road. It was such a complete difference from the day before, but I had heard that the weather was quick to change in Skyrim. Still, this felt more like the verge of winter than a late summer day in Last Seed.

I had checked all of my provisions and was satisfied that I had everything I would need. After crossing the river, I stayed to the left and followed the crude path that started upward toward my next task. Lucan had told me that there would be an old abandoned tower just a few hundred yards before the barrow. The first drops of rain began to fall well before I had located the landmark. By the time the tower was in sight, I had passed the snow line on the mountain and the rain had turned to mostly sleet. It was coming down at a much steadier pace. The wind was coming in cold gusts down the mountainside, occasionally causing the ice pellets to sting my cheeks.

The tower was in disrepair and looked as if it might topple at any moment. But what truly caught my attention was the glow of a lantern near its base. If the barrow was indeed a thieves’ den, it would only make sense that they would have an outpost here. Crouching and creeping slowly, I approached with an arrow at the ready on my bowstring. I managed to get very close without detection. A guard, for lack of a better term, was pacing a stone bridge that led to the entrance of the tower. He would disappear through the doorway and return at regular intervals. A woman with red war paint on her face was standing with her back to a spruce tree, undoubtedly seeking shelter from the precipitation beneath its boughs. Both sides of her head were shaved bald, leaving a shock of hair that stood straight up in a row that ran along the center of her scalp. After timing the guard’s trip, I added more red to the paint on her face with an arrow shot through her head and into the spruce trunk.

I’m getting good at tacking bandits to trees…

The guard evidently didn’t hear the arrow hit the tree, but immediately noticed something amiss upon his return and drew his sword. It was the last thing he would ever notice in his lifetime, thanks to an arrow through his breastbone. His sword clattered on the bridge deck as he fell off the stone arch, landing with a muffled thud on the snow below.

I looked at the old keep and debated whether or not to enter. The odds were slim that the claw would be in the tower, but I could not risk it. I was crossing the stone archway toward the entrance just in time to see it filled by what may have been the largest man I had ever seen. He had biceps as big as my thighs and thighs as big as my waist. I tried to stop myself, but a film of sleet had collected on the bridge. Instead of stopping and retreating, I lost my footing and sat down hard, biting on my tongue as my backside met the stone. Searing pain and blood filled my mouth instantly. My bow skittered away from me on the same carpet of ice pellets that had robbed me of my footing.

The huge Nord gave a yell and charged, raising an enormous war hammer as he did so. I tried to get up, but kept slipping, unable to get a foothold. I scrambled backward, looking and feeling akin to a mudcrab on a frozen pond. By chance, my hand found the sword of my earlier victim. Without hesitating, I grabbed it and launched it toward my attacker as hard as I could. It spun through the air, end over end. Because the Nord had both arms raised to deal a blow with the hammer, he was exposed and vulnerable. The point of the twirling sword found the bandit’s throat in an amazing stroke of luck. He stood there, momentarily dumbfounded, and then toppled over the side of the bridge. I stared for a second, equally dumbfounded, and then laid back, looking at the sky and sighing with relief. The sleet had started mixing with snow. Ice pellets and snowflakes were hitting me in the face as I took a moment to catch my breath.

I need a drink!

That thought motivated me to investigate the building. Not just for the claw, but for some ale or mead to numb my bleeding tongue. I spat a crimson stain on the bridge to try and get rid of some of the coppery taste that filled my mouth. I didn’t want to waste a healing potion on something as petty as a bleeding tongue. I gathered my bow and continued toward the entrance. Inside the tower, I did not find the claw during my search. However, I did find a couple bottles of ale and just over fifty Septims in a leather pouch. Even better, I found a healing potion, so I could heal my tongue after all. After doing so, I chugged down one bottle of ale, and then leisurely drank the other on my way out. I raised the bottle in a mock toast to my fallen attackers as I passed.

“Here’s to ya,” I quipped, and made my way toward the barrow in what had become a full blown snow storm.

Posted by: Captain Hammer Jun 25 2013, 05:06 AM

I have added this to my reading list, making it my first official Skyrim-fic posted here (though I suppose I have to add others, now).

This is a well and truly impressive start, from the snippets in Valrimor's past that detail his origins and upbringing to the drunken flight through the caves beneath Helgen and then to Val's misadventures in Riverwood. It is a good start and I'm interested to see how this Nordic Wood Elf proceeds in the lands of Old Skyrim.

Posted by: mALX Jun 25 2013, 12:13 PM

Your descriptions in this chapter (and in particular describing the weather the first two paragraphs of the 21st Last Seed) are outstanding!

That Nord must be absolutely enormous for Val to find him huge, ROFL !!! (I can say that now that I've seen Val's screenshot, lol).

I LOVED that Val slid on the ice here, really great idea to make him vulnerable at times (especially given his size and muscle mass!)

Also LOVED that he toasted the fallen enemy on the way out, nice touch! (But GAAAAH! He didn't search them! Lol).

Awesome Write !!!

Posted by: Acadian Jun 25 2013, 03:36 PM

An interesting interlude with fun and squirrel games that turned deadly. The decision not to go to the College of Winterhold flowed quite naturally from the events and reactions in the scene. We glimpse some possible history of why Val seems to perhaps eschew spell casting. A chilling thought at the end as Elli laments that Val seems to carry the dark temper of his rapacious father.

And back from Embershard Mine with gems but no claw. A new bow and evening of white wine, then off to Bleak Falls Barrow.

Tacking more bandits to trees!

’My bow skittered away from me on the same carpet of ice pellets that had robbed me of my footing.’ - - Uh oh. This does not bode well – although it was fabulously worded by the writer. Whew! You did a nice job of incorporating the fortuitous sword tossing while using Val’s own incredulity at his success to temper the feat. This was especially effective since it was preceded by his slipping, falling and back-skittling like a mud crab.

Posted by: jack cloudy Jun 29 2013, 08:55 PM

Overconfidence comes before the fall. And the slapstick comedy battle. Val's shock at having it actually work was the punchline.

I also like how he takes a methodical approach to his search for the claw instead of psychically knowing where to go. That includes looking into sidespots on the offchance it is there. (One of the things I dislike about Skyrim. I literally got a quest recently where the NPC went "so bring me the staff." Without telling where the staff was, what it looked like etc. I had to go in the journal to find the location. )


And finally, I really appreciate all the breaks he takes to upgrade his gear, eat, drink and just do some other stuff than quest. It helps sell that he's searching the claw as a means to an end (money) rather than an all-important goal in itself.

PS: I just saw one of Val's screenshots. He is one handsome pointy-eared Nord.

Posted by: SubRosa Jun 29 2013, 09:51 PM

Selling off loot, a new bow, and then a nice stroll through the forest. Sounds like Wood Elf paradise!

Things were going so well until that icy bridge. Eeep! That was a close call.

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jul 1 2013, 02:57 AM

First things first...

@ Captain Hammer - Thanks for joining in and thanks even more for your very kind words. I hope you will enjoy Val's further exploits.

@ mALX - Also LOVED that he toasted the fallen enemy on the way out, nice touch! (But GAAAAH! He didn't search them! Lol). -- Thanks mALX! The weather was too nasty to search the bodies, plus two had fallen off the bridge. Hopefully, none of them had the claw!

@ Acadian - Welcome back from your sojourn to Montana.

You did a nice job of incorporating the fortuitous sword tossing while using Val’s own incredulity at his success to temper the feat. This was especially effective since it was preceded by his slipping, falling and back-skittling like a mud crab. -- Thank you so much! I have tried hard to show that Val reaching 51 years of age entailed skill in combat, but I don't want him to seem like a super hero, because he SO is not!

@ jack cloudy - One of the things I dislike about Skyrim. I literally got a quest recently where the NPC went "so bring me the staff." Without telling where the staff was, what it looked like etc. I had to go in the journal to find the location. -- Same here! How could Lucan have possibly known that the claw would be in Bleak Falls Barrow when he didn't know what the claw was for? Thanks for the comments.

@ SubRosa - Things were going so well until that icy bridge. Eeep! -- Having spent several years north of the Mason-Dixon Line, I well remember icy conditions on bridges. Thanks for the comments.

******
All of you rock!

******
Previously: Val was on his way up the mountain in worsening weather conditions when he encountered bandits at an outpost near the summit. Having disposed of them, he continued on to Bleak Falls Barrow…

21st Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

When I left Riverwood, I had prided myself in being prepared for the journey. I had double checked my equipment and provisions and patted myself on the back for thinking of everything. How quickly things change, for now I cursed myself for not bringing a scarf and gloves. The snow storm was nothing short of a blizzard. The howling wind, blowing snow, and freezing temperatures were wreaking havoc on every square inch of exposed skin. I was actually looking forward to entering the barrow just to get out of this weather.

The structure loomed large ahead of me. Massive stone arches topped with some type of stylized animal head were its main feature, but the blinding snow made seeing details impossible. A wide set of stone stairs led upward to where I presumed the entrance to be. I had reached the base of the steps when something stung the side of my face. I spun to see what had done it, but nothing was there. Looking down, I saw an arrow lying in the snow, and then I saw a second arrow ricochet off the stone wall next to the stairs. Someone was shooting at me! I retreated to the nearest cover, the corner of the same stone wall at the base of the steps.

I nocked an arrow and peered around the corner. Visibility was hindered greatly by the blowing snow, but I could just make out a shadowy figure coming down the stairs. He appeared to have another arrow of his own nocked and ready. I drew back my bowstring, then leaned out, took quick aim, and shot. I immediately understood why my attacker had missed me with his first two attempts. The howling wind played with the arrow like a toy. I could not be sure where it struck, but it certainly was not in my approaching antagonist. I cursed the snowstorm under my breath as I ducked back behind my cover.

Enough of this!

I slung my bow and drew my sword, waiting for the bandit to get closer. When I guessed that he was close enough, I jumped out and charged my enemy while letting out a scream at the top of my lungs. The initial surprise was enough to catch the bandit off guard. He did manage to fend off my first swing with his bow, but that blow had knocked him off balance and finishing him off was quick and easy after that.

“WHAT IN THE GODS NAMES ARE YOU DOING OUT IN THIS WEATHER!” I raged into the dead man’s face, while withdrawing my sword from his rib cage.

Unbridled fury seized me and ran through my veins like molten metal. Reason and caution had fled me in its wake. I charged up the steps and encountered another bandit guard. I could feel the explosive heat building down my arms as I dropped my sword. The guard was amazed to see me, for a moment. I raised my arms and blasted the thief with intense fire that did not stop until I was no longer able to sustain it. His screams had gone silent well before his charred corpse collapsed into the snow with a hiss and a cloud of steam. Still raging with anger, my fury and I continued to charge toward the barrow entrance. Suddenly, I noticed there was less snow and wind. This caught my attention enough to prevent me from rushing headlong through the doors. I had stepped under an overhang that offered a minimal respite from the elements. I took a moment to catch my breath, while cursing myself for losing my temper so completely. At that moment, I realized that I had not retrieved my sword.

For Y’ffre’s sake Val! Where did THAT come from? You swore that would never happen again…

After collecting my sword and returning to the limited shelter of the overhang, I examined the entrance. It was a pair of heavy double doors that appeared ancient in the extreme. Opening them quietly might prove difficult. But I certainly couldn’t stand out here in the freezing cold and wait for someone to come by to grease the hinges. With my sword at the ready, I gently pulled on the large iron ring. I was pleasantly surprised at how easily and quietly the door opened, and I was even more pleased to find no one on the other side guarding it. Pulling the door only enough to allow for my passage, I stepped through cautiously so as not to alert nearby foes. It closed just as easily and silently as it had opened. I stood there for a moment, watching and listening.

I had entered a large chamber. It had the look of being a temple in days past. But now, holes in the roof were letting daylight and snowflakes in. The floor was littered with rubble. An acrid, sickly sweet odor occasionally accosted my nostrils, like meat that had started to turn. At the far end, I could see light and movement. Voices reverberated off the stone walls, but not clear enough for me to make out what was being said. I sheathed my sword and readied my bow. Staying close to the walls and in the shadows of the rubble piles, I crept slowly and silently toward the source of light and sound. There was a dead man and several dead skeevers lying in the middle of the floor, but it wasn’t safe to investigate yet.

That explains the smell…

I stopped when I was close enough to hear what was being said. Two bandits were standing near a fire, a fairly large man and a female mer, but what race I could not tell. She was very concerned about getting her fair share, and he was trying to allay her concerns.

You’re about to have more to worry about, sister…

Indeed she did when she saw her comrade fall with an arrow in the back of his skull. Her worries were short lived though, as was she. I waited a bit to allow for more bandits to appear. When none did, I slung my bow and approached the fire. I stood in its warmth for a few minutes, holding out my hands and thawing the rest of the cold from my bones. While standing there, I contemplated what had occurred outside. A shudder ran through me, as much from shedding the cold as well as trepidation over losing control of myself the way I had. A knot of fear that I had not felt since I was a child gnawed at my belly.

Stop thinking about that! This was a fluke…an anomaly…it won’t happen again…relax…

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The odors that permeated the chamber snapped me right back to reality and the present. Since there was no sign of any immediate danger, and the worst of the chill had left my body, the first thing I did was open my pack and grab my wine bottle. I started chugging and had a third of the bottle gone before I lowered it from my lips. Replacing the cork, I set the bottle next to my pack and decided to investigate the chamber. First, I walked back to the dead man I had seen earlier. Upon closer examination, I wished I hadn’t. What I had thought to be a man was recognizable as humanoid in shape only. The skeevers had been at him…her…it…with a vengeance. As I looked around, I realized that there were many dead skeevers. Over a dozen of the dead rodents were scattered about the chamber, but there were no signs of wounds on the vermin. It was as if they had dropped in their tracks. I looked back again at the miserable excuse for a corpse and noticed a pouch on its belt. When I leaned down to grab it, I caught the unmistakable odor of spider venom. This poor soul had been poisoned, and then the skeevers died from feasting on tainted flesh. The amount of venom must have been extreme for the body to reek of it so heavily. I used my dagger to cut the pouch loose, and then used it again on each of the dead skeevers to harvest their tails.

I returned to the fire, figuring there must be some food and drink around somewhere. While searching for provisions the bandits would no longer require, I saw a chest. A grin came to my lips as I walked toward it. I could already feel the claw in my hands. The chest was locked, but not for long. The lock popped with minimal effort, causing my smile to grow as I opened the chest, and then it fell away from my face when I viewed the contents. There was no claw to be had, but I did gain some coin and a green vial with the simple label of “Boost”.

Looks like I’m going deeper into the barrow…

I shuddered at the thought of what I was sure would be tight, confined spaces. My search for food and drink was fruitless, which meant I would have to dig into my own provisions. I couldn’t believe these bandits didn’t have some ale lying around somewhere. After a snack of bread and cheese, chased with more healthy swigs of wine, I eyed the bedrolls arranged around the fire. It couldn’t be later than early afternoon, but there was no telling when I might get a chance to rest once I entered the tunnels of the barrow. As I had done in Embershard mine, I decided to lie down on top of one of the bedrolls for a short nap. I kept my sword out of its scabbard and within quick reach, just in case. Before I slept, I mused with a furrowed brow about my earlier outburst. It nagged at me like a bothersome insect that wouldn’t go away until I killed it. I decided to do just that, and opened my backpack to get the wine bottle. I finished of the last of it and reclined again. Thoughts of childhood and uncontrolled power swirled through my head as I dozed off…



Black space stretches for as far as I can see, or not see, in every direction. I am not falling or floating. I am not paralyzed, but I can’t go anywhere, because there is nowhere to go. I am simply existing somewhere in space and time with no indication as to the passing of either. Now I can make out two red points of light that seem to be approaching me. No…not points of light…eyes, with pupils that are elongated to the vertical…serpent’s eyes. I have seen these eyes before, but cannot recall where or when. Fear begins to rise in me as a scaly head comes into focus around the eyes. The sound of massive wings beating the air accompanies a low hissing growl that is coming from its mouth. Then it begins to speak in a strange language that I have never heard before, but I understand it fully…

“Come as I know you must. Come and grovel before me. We shall tear you asunder with the voices of mayhem, my minions and I. The others shall soften you and make you regret your inevitable fate, our fate, the fate of all. Perhaps if you grovel sufficiently, I shall spare your life. But do not hope for such, for your life spared will be a life of supplicating misery, as an example to all human kind. It shall be a life of bowing to my every whim and begging for me to spare you no longer. The days of men and mer have come to an end. Come as I know you must.”

Suddenly, fire, frost, and concussive force alternately burn, freeze, and pound me, over and over again in rapid succession. The agony seems endless with no hope of ever ending…I can do nothing but scream…

Posted by: Acadian Jul 1 2013, 02:50 PM

Frying his foe certainly did seem to come out of the blue. But then not really, considering your recent and revealing interlude glimpse into Val’s past. I smiled as his fire rampage conjured an ominous admonishment from the ancient Incredible Hulk TV show: ‘Don’t make me angry; you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.’

’Since there was no sign of any immediate danger, and the worst of the chill had left my body, the first thing I did...’ - - As soon as I got this far into the sentence, I already knew what the next clause would reveal: - - ’...was open my pack and grab my wine bottle.’ - - You have clearly trained us to understand this aspect of Val well!

Uh oh. The mixture of dead bandits and skeevers that Val describes sounds like there be spiders. . . .

More wine to wash down some bread and cheese. Then on top of a bedroll for some rest – and a troubling dream.

Posted by: mALX Jul 1 2013, 08:14 PM

ROFL! I’ll bet the bandit/guard was thinking the same thing, lol.

Val’s temper may stand him in good stead to handle enemies others can’t if he can just get mad at the right times, lol. Very impressive write on the tantrum that toasted the second guard, I loved that scene!

Val was like a detective figuring out the clues as to the dead skeever and corpse, I love the way his mind works! Also, Val really knows his poison ingredients. He is a tremendously well rounded person one would want to have along on any survival mission (as long as you never made him mad and alcohol was in limited supply, lol).

Ooh, Val’s nightmare was amazing and intriguing! Fantastic Write!

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Jul 1 2013, 10:24 PM

Chapter 10: "Yarh Ha! Yarh ha! The Nord's life for me."

Drinking, hunting, and alchemy. Quite the dream he has. There is some coin to be had to brew one's own ale. Especially in a province like Skyrim, the income would be great. Val strikes me as a smart individual here, too. I agree with Acadian on the quiver amount.

Ah. This I like. One of my archer characters has a habit of always checking her arrows. Whenever and wherever possible she inspected each and every one of her arrows for straightness, for a single arrow with even the slightest amount of warp would bounce off target or fail to penetrate as deeply as it should—and this defect would increase as the range grew. One had to make sure their arrows were as stiff as possible, for the fact that an arrow that would flex in mid-flight would have the same defects as an arrow already warped. Glad Valrimor knows this just as well as any other archer! Besides, bows and arrows to him are like arms and legs.

Chapter 11: We start this chapter off with a bang with our fellow Bosmeri Nord getting attacked by an Orc!


I can picture the image in my head! Excellent! The intense confrontation must be scary but a bottle of wine will drown all fears. Most of em anyway. His skills with archery and sneaky tactics shows here. He dispatched those guards with grace! Props to him! He'll live another day to drink more wine!

Interlude, II:Fast forward a few years and we see a young Valrimor with the precious inquiries of his father's location. His childike innocence is both lovable and yet heartbreaking. I am interested in hearing more about his father and a reunion somehow, perhaps.

Those mages. I wonder what they want Val for. He certainly is skilled with his racia abilities, much to their amazement. Of course, it doesn't end up going good with the robes Altmer asking questions about Val.

Ah, and so he's had a temper since youth!

Chapter 12: When a Bosmer loses his bow, he has to replace it right away! Good thing does gems came in handy! 200 septims came in fine here. Good to see him take a break. He deserves it after a run in with those bandits and the mohawed one. Hilarious to see him toast to the dead . . . that he killed. He'll find the gesture one-sided, I'm afraid


Chapter 13: My favorite number! And a good chapter!

A warrior or a person in combat knows that feelings such as anger does indeed help. There's a whole science behind it, but none of that now.



"Use your anger! It gives you focus, makes you stronger!"

Heh. Quite the mad fellow here. No bandit stands a chance against his fury!

I gotta say the descriptions and Val's continuous drinking is both wonderful and amusing to read. And before heading off to what I assume is a spider's domain after all the dead skeever's, he has a frightning nightmare. One that just might mean something significant. Good read!

Posted by: SubRosa Jul 1 2013, 11:33 PM

Uh oh, Val was almost caught napping in the snowstorm by the archers outside the barrow.

The howling wind played with the arrow like a toy.
This was a wonderful description of the issues with shooting in a storm.

I see Teresa is not the only one with anger management issues. Vals seem to be far worse though!

But I certainly couldn’t stand out here in the freezing cold and wait for someone to come by to grease the hinges.
I loved this thought!

I couldn’t believe these bandits didn’t have some ale lying around somewhere.
There is Val's Nord blood talking!

I can guess who that scaly and winged dream visitor was! After that, I think I would need more wine!

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jul 4 2013, 09:39 PM

First things first...A Happy Independence Day to all my fellow Americans, and a fine Saturday to everyone else!

@ Acadian - @ the David Banner reference! Think how well that would apply if Val was an Orc!

@ mALX - Inspector Valrimor is on the case! "Move along...nothing to see here...move along..."

@ Darkness Eternal - You're all caught up now! Me thinks I should have been clearer about Val recovering his bow before he moved on...oops...

@ SubRosa - I see Teresa is not the only one with anger management issues. -- I haven't come across that in my reading yet, but I'll take your word for it.
*****
@ Everyone - Thank you all so much for the kind comments. As always, it means a lot to me. On to the next installment...
*****
Previously - After fighting his way through a tower, a blizzard, and the bandit base camp inside the barrow, Valrimor had decided to get some rest before continuing his quest for the claw…rest that was shortened by a harrowing dream…

21st Last Seed, 4E201 – Continued

I awoke not knowing how long I had slept, with the nightmare still fresh in my head. It was the same recurring dream that I had experienced over and over, ever since being a child. The details varied a little from time to time, but the message was always the same, and always terrifying. The hair on my arms was still bristling from the imagery.

“Your inevitable fate, our fate, the fate of all” the beast had said. Is fate truly drawing me toward an inevitable destiny like some sort of mystic lodestone? I had always considered dragons to be the stuff of my nightmares, until Helgen…

I shook my head to get rid of these thoughts and looked around. There was no longer light coming in through the holes in the ceiling, so I guessed that it was likely dusk or later. I looked at the empty wine bottle next to the bedroll with a frown, disappointed that it couldn’t prevent a nightmare. With a sigh, I decided I better get moving. I rose and gathered my belongings, then looked with trepidation at the opening that led deeper into the barrow.

Gods, I hate this…

The passage was narrow, but not excessively so, and started sloping downward immediately. I shook off a momentary bout with claustrophobia and followed the tunnel. Strategically placed braziers allowed just enough light to not trip on the vines and roots that claimed much of the floor. Occasionally I would come across what looked like tombs made of black stone with small urns on top of them. Not wanting to leave any leaf unturned, I checked each vessel for the claw. Finding the artifact that easily would be far too much to hope for, but I had to be sure.

As the passage made a left turn, I quickly halted and crouched when I saw a man with a torch traversing the same route as I was. He was entering a chamber a short distance ahead of me. I remained in the shadows and watched him as he examined the room. After a moment, he approached a lever in front of a closed iron portcullis. When he pulled on it, I heard hissing sounds, followed by the dull thuds of impact. The man groaned and fell. I waited for what I thought to be a prudent amount of time before approaching the prostrate figure. When I reached him, I discovered the cause of his fall. Protruding from several locations on his body were small wooden pegs with rudimentary fletching, the back halves of darts that had spelled his demise. Looking up above the gate, I discerned several holes that must have been the source of the projectiles.

So…don’t pull the lever….yet…

A quick search of the lifeless dart target garnered a few Septims and some lock picks to add to my stock. Examining the room, I noticed three small pylons of stone. Each was on a slightly raised circular dais. There were stylized animal symbols inlaid on the faces of the stones. Two had eagles and one had a whale. There were also images of animals on the wall high above the gate, etched in bas relief on what looked like stone tablets. One of these had fallen to the floor, but was basically intact. Two of them had snakes and a third had the same whale as on one of the pylons. I walked over and examined the three miniature monoliths more closely. When I reached out to touch one, I discovered that it would spin easily on its dais, and that when I spun it, another side had the same snake as one of the etched tablets.

Could it be that simple?

I rotated all of the stones so that there were two snakes and a whale facing outward. Nothing happened. I looked over at the dead man and the lever. The conclusion I reached was inevitable.

You know you have to try it…

I walked over to the lever, took a deep breath and prepared to dive at the first hiss of an airborne dart. When I pulled it, the gate shot upward, granting access to the chamber beyond. With a sigh of relief, I looked down at the dart riddled corpse and said, “Brains before brawn, my good man,” and walked through the gateway. Just past the raised portcullis, there was a chest that yielded another fruitless search for the claw, but it provided more loot to add to my collection. To the left, a spiraling staircase led downward. A sound, not unlike a dog scratching at a door to get in, came up from below. I doubted there were any pets in here, so I readied an arrow before starting down. About halfway, I met the would-be pets as several skeevers bounded up the stairs toward their deaths. I harvested the tails and continued onward.

The stairwell ended at the entrance to a fairly large room. Cobwebs festooned every corner and surface. Dust covered benches and shelves dotted the perimeter of the room and a large table was featured at its center. There was a dark green ceramic vial on the table labeled, “A Touch of Stillness”.

Perfume?

I uncorked the vial and waved my hand over the top to get a whiff of the contents. The unmistakable odor of canis root and briar heart told me this was no perfume. It was a paralysis poison, although a weak one. With a smirk of approval, I added it to my pack and then noticed a scroll that was also on the table. When I picked it up, I glimpsed a stylized eye stamped into the wax seal. I dropped the rolled parchment as though it had burned me.

The Mage’s Guild? That organization has been dissolved for at least two hundred years…

Though I loathed the prospect of carrying anything to do with Magicka, I realized that something this old must be worth some hefty coin. Gingerly, I retrieved the scroll and placed in my pack, and then set my attention back to the task at hand. As I proceeded onward, I heard a voice coming from up ahead.

“Is…Is someone coming? Is that you, Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?” the voice inquired.

I nocked an arrow and continued. Perhaps the voice was referring to the two thieves I had dispatched and the third that became a dartboard. I noticed that some all too familiar instances of web work were becoming distinguishable from the random cobwebs. As I wound my way through the tunnel, the voice spoke again.

“I know I ran ahead with the claw, but I need help.”

Hearing a reference to the claw spurred me forward until I reached an opening that was completely walled off by spider silk. The voice pleaded for help from the chamber beyond. I searched for another entrance to the chamber, but found none. Sighing with frustration, I thought over what would be the best way to proceed. Undoubtedly, there would be at least one spider in the next room. I dosed an arrow with the paralysis poison and nocked it, holding the shaft to the riser with my left hand. With my right, I drew my dagger and began cutting away the webbing that blocked the opening.

I had no sooner finished and stepped into the chamber beyond when an immense spider dropped from the ceiling about a dozen paces away from me. The disembodied voice screamed with terror and panic. I tossed the dagger, and then drew the bowstring back and shot. The spider instantly froze in mid stride and before the effects of the poison wore off, I had pumped three more arrows into its face. It never moved again. The voice shifted from panic to gratitude.

“Oh Gods, thank you!” it said, “Now get me down!”

I looked in the direction of the voice and discerned a wiggling mass entangled in the webbing. The chamber itself was fairly large, its walls coated with intricate silk patterns designed to keep the weaver fed. I walked over to the giant arachnid and milked its fangs into the now empty vial of paralysis poison for future use.

“Don’t leave me here, for Arkay’s sake!” begged the voice, “Help me!”

“Shut up!” I barked back at him.

Looking around the chamber, I noticed several bundles of spider silk that were not wriggling and complaining as much as the one at the other side of the room. Some were skeevers; others were human, or at least human-ish. I recovered my dagger and harvested the tails from the sticky rodent corpses. I couldn’t bring myself to search the desiccated human forms.

“Get me down…GET ME DOWN!” demanded the whining voice from the other side of the room.

“Oh, for the love of Mara, SHUT…UP!” I yelled with growing irritation.

I also noted that there were several spider egg sacs scattered about the chamber. The eggs were an ingredient of one of my favorite potions, and fairly expensive when purchased at an alchemy shop. When combined with elves ear or juniper berries, it made an elixir I called “Sure Shot” that fortifies a marksman’s abilities. I harvested as many spider eggs as I could find. Finally, I walked toward the plaintive voice of what would have joined the dried up bundles on the floor, had I not intervened. The whiner was a Dunmer of average build, still wiggling and trying to get free of his binds. I paused a moment to consider his predicament, and how I could use it to my advantage.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Arvel Nalwyn, Arvel the Swift to my associates. Now get me down before something else comes!” the elf replied.

“You are Arvel the Stuck, right now. You’re also kind of demanding for someone that needs my help,” I pointed out to the Dunmer, “and not to mention that were whining like a child just a few moments ago. Let’s talk about this claw a bit first.”

“Yes, yes…the claw. I know how it works. The claw…the markings…the door to the Hall of Stories…I know how it all fits together. If you help me down, I’ll show you. You won’t believe the power that the Nords have left here!”

“You have it then?” I asked.

“Have what?” Arvel replied.

“The Golden Claw, you idiot!”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Arvel assured me.

“Then give it to me first,” I demanded.

“Give what to you?”

“The blessed claw, you exasperating fetcher!” I raged.

“Now how do you propose I do that while I am all trussed up like this, hmmm?”

He had a point. Of course, I could have just slit the Dunmer’s throat while he was defenseless like this and taken the claw. But I have never been prone to murder, except in defense from a known enemy. If he charged me after I cut him down, that would be different. I took a moment to think on how to best be prepared for Arvel’s actions once he was free. Of course, this delay brought forth another round of complaints from the Dunmer, fueling my ire. I tried to cut him loose in such a way that he would be off balance when he was finally free of the webbing. This proved fruitless, as Arvel performed a feat of acrobatics that assured he would land feet first.

“You fool!” the Dunmer said as soon as his feet hit the floor, “Why should I share the treasure with anyone?”

And with that, Arvel turned and gave a superb example of why he had his nickname.

*****

EDIT - Nit picked.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Jul 4 2013, 11:45 PM

Happy Muricah day to you, too!

So Val awakens from the nightmare, and the hours seemed to go by. Some wine would be nice, no? Too bad it ran out! I enjoyed his journey deeper into the depths of the barrow. Somehow I think the darts killing the stranger saved his life, but he's still a smart fellow regardless.

“Brains before brawn, my good man,”

A lesson many Nord men need to learn . . .


The fight with the spider. For some reason I thought I would've been longer, but squashing a giant bug shouldn't seem so trivial. Four arrows is sufficient enough. Have a taste of your own medicine, Frostbite?

The hanging thief was just another shout-for-help away from being shot with an arrow. If I were Val, I would've been peeved too. His irritation showed brilliantly with his snide comment! I had a kick out of this one.

What a dumb man, that thief? His stupidity knew no bounds , but his swiftness sure was his advantage, or perhaps his downside as Val(who we know has a temper) might not take betrayal or trickery too lightly. Maybe Arvel the Swift just might be named Arvel The Stuck if Val is tempted to stick him like a piggy!

Good chapter! As always, amusing and interesting to read!

Posted by: Acadian Jul 5 2013, 02:40 PM

Once again, thanks for the invaluable little ‘Previously...’ summary that precedes your updates.

Val did a great job of sharing his observations and solution to that dart trapped portcullis.

Ugh, spider. Complete with wiggling and noisy Dunmeri prey.

’When combined with elves ear...’ - - Oh noes!

I guess Arvel the Swift was kind of a lose-lose proposition. Nevertheless, it was good to hear Val’s internal deliberations. Oh well. Deeper into the dungeon it’ll be I gather.

Posted by: SubRosa Jul 5 2013, 06:42 PM

Acadian: Thankfully in Skyrim Elves Ear is a plant, not a pointy protuberance from a merish head.

Some canny behaviour on Val's part, in watching the man pull the lever and reveal the trap. Some (especially the followers in this game), would have just charged in and attacked him.

“Brains before brawn, my good man,”
Indeed.

That is some perfume!

The scroll from the Mages Guild offered us a two-for one deal in storytelling. On one hand you used it to reveal the fate of the new MG. On the other you also showed us one more glimpse of Val's aversion to magic.

Ewww, spiders. That is one thing I loath about this game.

And good old Arvel the Swift. Oblivion had Valen Dreth, Skyrim has him. And there he goes! Perhaps in the end he will prove as helpful as the first bandit was in the room with the poison darts?

Posted by: mALX Jul 7 2013, 05:59 AM

I am loving the way Val's lifelong nightmares are just now beginning to tie into what is happening in Skyrim - that takes everything full circle, I love that!

I remember that first puzzle, lol.

Very much like that Val is looking through the chests ever expecting to find the claw - that makes it real. That is like the first time going into the world when we don't know what to expect - the most exciting play you will ever have is that first game when you never know what will happen next, and your story brings us there in such a way that it feels like we are going through it with Val - very Awesome Write !!!

Supurb line! You are very talented with subtle lines like that, I LOVED that! Awesome Write !!!

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jul 10 2013, 01:30 PM

First things first...I apologize for not getting to the stories I have been following this week. RL prevented such, but I will get some more in on Sunday. Also, in this installment, I have...borrowed?...stolen?...used an idea of other authors and included a screenshot in the story

@ Darkness Eternal - A lesson many Nord men need to learn . . . -- Must be Val's Bosmer half.

@ Acadian - As SubRosa pointed out, In Skyrim, Elves Ear is indeed a plant. If Buffy is still alive in 4E201, she neededn't fret about Val coming for her ears! You can read about it http://uesp.net/wiki/Skyrim:Elves_Ear.

@ SubRosa - Some canny behaviour on Val's part, in watching the man pull the lever and reveal the trap. -- While playing this character in the game for this story, this was the first time I actually saw the fellow alive. He is usually dead by the time I get to that room. Thus the inspiration for that scene.

@ mALX - Very much like that Val is looking through the chests ever expecting to find the claw - that makes it real. -- This harkens back to a rant that J. Cloudy had in a comment about an earlier chapter. In "reality", Val would have no way of knowing where the claw was. I'm glad you liked that touch.

*****
@ Everyone - As always, thanks to all of you for your comments and kind words. On to the story...
*****

Previously - In Bleak Falls Barrow, Valrimor had managed to solve a puzzling lock to a closed gate, and then discovered Arvel the Swift stuck in a spider’s web and set him free, a little too successfully…

21st Last Seed, 4E201 – Continued

As Arvel turned and ran, I threw the dagger at him. He was much too quick and the knife merely bounced off the wall of the passageway. I stood there for a moment, my rage boiling over. Balls of flame burst to life in my hands. I raised my arms and yelled a curse at the top of my lungs, blasting fire down the tunnel until my inner source of power was exhausted. When I had finished, my anger had been replaced by uneasiness and concern.

What is going on with me? Why am I suddenly prone to these fits of rage? Worse yet, where is my self control?

Disgusted with myself, I started out after Arvel, picking up my dagger along the way. The air reeked with the odor of burnt dust and cobwebs, accentuating my self-loathing. The passage twisted into a room that had a raised dais to one side and several of the urns I had been seeing throughout the barrow. I did not take time to search the room, as I knew Arvel possessed what I had come for. Besides, I wanted to track the little fetcher down and have my way with him. A loud noise and a short scream echoed from the opening at the far end of the room. I continued my pursuit, following those sounds through another twisting passage that had started sloping downward into yet another chamber. Up ahead, something was moving, so I stopped and ducked into the shadows. It appeared to be humanoid, but it was definitely not Arvel. I could hear a low, guttural sound, akin to a growl. Whatever it was, it was also armed. I could see the shape of its axe silhouetted against the light of a brazier.

I eased back further into the shadows to plan a strategy. The room appeared to be a mausoleum, with open sided shelves for interring the deceased. Some of the shelves were empty and others were occupied. The hairs on my arms and neck suddenly stood at attention when one of the occupants began to move! I quickly nocked an arrow and shot at the creature that was now standing, hitting it in the center of its chest. It kept coming, growling and glaring at me with glowing blue eyes. I sent a second arrow through the creature’s sternum and it dropped to the floor, presumably dead again. One of its roommates must have been alerted by the noise, as it too rose from the dead. Two arrows later, it was also down, but now the original creature I had seen was charging at me with its axe raised and growling fiercely. It swung just as I dodged to the side and the axe blade missed me by mere inches. I back pedaled as I nocked an arrow and shot, missing the charging corpse completely. It was on me again in an instant, with a persistence that would rival the living. I used my bow like a shield while drawing my sword. With one good parry, I was able to knock it off balance. Now that I had the advantage, I pressed the attack, beating the undead creature backward until I was able to find an opening for a final thrust. It soon joined its comrades in what I hoped would be eternal rest.

Taking a moment to catch my breath, I surveyed the crypt for more attacking dead things. None were about, so I sheathed my sword and continued my chase. The pursuit was short and was completed when I reached the other end of the chamber. Arvel the Swift, who had once been Arvel the Stuck, was now Arvel the Deceased. The Dunmer was pinned to a large spiked gate. Points of iron protruded from his body, most notably the one between his eyes. Those eyes were still open, rolled upward and exposing nothing but the reds. His mouth hung open, having released its final scream minutes earlier. The thief must have snagged a trip wire or hit a pressure plate during his sprint and released this trap, which in turn must have roused the first creature I had seen.

I quickly searched Arvel’s body, being careful of where I stepped. He did indeed have the claw, as well as a journal and some coin that he wouldn’t be spending any time soon. I took all of this and placed it in my pack. I checked again for more undead antagonists, especially down the passage that I had not ventured into yet. Part of me was curious about something Arvel had said while he was still Arvel the Stuck.

“Yes, yes, the claw…I know how it works…The claw, the markings, the door to The Hall of Stories…I know how it all fits together,” he had said. He had also said something about great power that the ancient Nords had left behind. It must be something truly valuable for him to throw caution to the wind and run deeper into the barrow the way he had. I pondered all of this for a few minutes, seriously debating if I should finish what Arvel had started.

Forget it. You succeeded in getting the claw. Get out of this Gods forsaken hole and return it to Lucan.

I pulled a torch from my pack, lit it, and headed back for the main entrance to the barrow. During the walk back, I took the time to examine my surroundings more closely. The first thing I looked at was one of my dead again attackers. The creature appeared to have been human once. Where it had gotten the strength to heft its axe the way it had was beyond me. Its body was shriveled and desiccated, almost mummified. There was no blood at all where it had been wounded, even where I had delivered the killing thrust. I shuddered with a sudden chill and moved on.

Most of the walls and columns were etched deeply with swirling patterns that made no sense to me. They reminded me of the whorls that one has upon their fingertips. The room that had the dais must have been some type of burial preparation room. Odd shaped tools and bundles of old linen were lying about. Ancient stains on a table top gave the impression of dried blood. By the time I reached the bandit camp near the entrance of the barrow, I was tired and hungry. I decided to rest here before returning to Riverwood. I pulled some bread and cheese from my pack and had a small meal, then washed it down with some water.

Gods, I would dearly love some ale right now…

With that unanswered prayer, I bedded down and tried to sleep. The thought of what happened after I threw the dagger at Arvel crept into my thoughts. I had promised myself a long time ago that such an incident would never happen again, and now it had happened twice within a day. I rolled over and forced those thoughts away into a fitful sleep.

* * *

22nd Last Seed, 4E201

After a quick breakfast of apples, cheese, and bread, I headed out for Riverwood. The snowstorm had passed, and I had to squint against the sun glare off of the fresh snow. It was still windy and bitterly cold. I would definitely need to invest in gloves and a scarf when I returned to Lucan’s shop. The trip back was uneventful, but wading through thigh deep snow was arduous. It wasn’t until I neared the snow line on the mountainside that the walk became easier. The rest of the downhill walk might as well have been a leisurely stroll in the woods. When I entered the settlement, I saw Hod walking toward the mill. I waved and smiled, but he just nodded back and went about his business.

Shrugging off Hod’s cold shoulder, I went straight for the inn. Lucan could wait a bit because I wanted a drink. Orgnar was at his customary station behind the bar. He smiled – if you could call that grimace of his a smile – and motioned for me to come over, saying, “I have something for you to try.”

I pulled up a stool as Orgnar filled a tankard from a cask in a rack behind the bar. He placed it on the bar and said, “Enjoy! First draught from a new cask is always free.”

Ahhh…finally succeeded in getting some ale!

I raised the mug and took a sip. It was delicious! The ale had a smooth flavor punctuated with a tangy aftertaste. I asked him what it was.

http://i.imgur.com/RQHWV5P.jpg

“That, kind sir, is Sleeping Giant Ale,” beamed Orgnar. “When I got ready to toss the bad ale, I discovered that I still had this one cask left that hadn’t turned. After our discussion the other day, I figured you to be an ale enthusiast. So, what do you think?”

“It’s great. What gives it the tanginess?” I asked.

“It’s Snowberries. I dry them and mix them in with the hops. Not too much, mind you, but enough to give it that little pop at the end.”

I finished that one and had two more, along with a bowl of soup. Feeling much better, I gave Orgnar enough money for the ales, the food, and a room for the night. I wanted to clean the foulness of the barrow off before going to see Lucan. When I went to my room and unloaded my gear, I came across Arvel’s journal. I took a seat in the chair and read it. It didn’t shed much more light on the subject of what he was looking for. It did have one line in quotations that caught my eye, “If you have the Golden Claw, the Key is in the Palm of your Hand.” It was cryptic, to say the least. I took out the claw and examined it closely for the first time. There were three long talons, all curving to near perpendicular with what would be the palm or sole of a hand or foot. The detailed workmanship was exquisite. I flipped it over and discovered three symbols on the underside. There was an owl, a bear, and a butterfly. Arvel had mentioned markings. Could this have been what the quote referred to?

Bah! Let Lucan figure it out. He can go spelunking amongst the walking dead if he wants. Maybe he’ll pay extra for the journal.

I put the claw back in my pack and cleaned myself up at the basin. Feeling very refreshed after food, ale, and soap, I left the inn for Lucan’s shop. When I entered the Riverwood Trader, Lucan smiled and said he was glad to see I had made it back. I started to reply, but he cut me off with an inquiry about the claw. I pulled it from my pack with a grin and proclaimed, “Feast your eyes on the sweet sight of success!”

Posted by: Acadian Jul 10 2013, 08:22 PM

Whew! Thanks to you and SubRosa for putting Buffy at ease that her big ears are not on someone's alchemy list.

A tense fight with some undead surprises!

Arvel the Deceased with open lids showing only the reds of his eyes! I loved that Dunmerism. Yup, traps and ‘the Swift’ don’t mix well in dungeons.

Finally, home safely and a great screenshot of Val enjoying a celebratory mug.

And we’re left with a couple mysteries. First, will Val sort out his temper and what has recently caused it to resurface after apparently being rather controllable for quite some time. Secondly, I wonder if he’ll simply hand the claw to Lucan and be done with it, or if he’ll become involved in its alluring puzzle.

Posted by: SubRosa Jul 10 2013, 08:32 PM

Val is still losing his temper. In a spectacular fashion too. Though at least this time there were no bad consequences.

Val's first encounter with draugr went pretty well.

I see Val decided that discretion is the better part of valor. Or as the saying goes: There are old adventurers, and bold adventurers, but no old bold adventurers.

Gods, I would dearly love some ale right now…
I get the feeling that is coming up soon...

I loved your description of Orgnar's smile as being a grimace. It adds some flavor to him.

And there is the ale!

I get the sneaking suspicion that Val is not through with Bleak Falls Barrow just yet. But we shall see...

Posted by: mALX Jul 11 2013, 10:42 AM

Loved the screenshot, is that a pose mod to catch him drinking ale like that? Very nice!

Looks like Hod is still carrying a grudge over a grasped arm, lol. Don't tick off a Nord, lol.

Speaking of not ticking off Nords, it is really interesting that Val is just as concerned and curious as the reader over his temper bouts, hope he didn't inherit some bad gene from his father's side!

Snowberries in the beer, Val needs to carry that keg with him and sip it while fighting Draugr!

I'm with SubRosa on the "grimace" for a smile - really nice descriptive choice!

Awesome Write!

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Jul 13 2013, 09:39 PM

So the guilt of rage begins to seep in the mind of our dear Val. That fire blast was impressive, and it does show how devasting Val can be with magicka. I don't suppose he'll control a pack of wolves or a herd of mammoths with his racial power to rampage through cities? Certainly might seem capable if his anger boils over to that point.

The fight between him and the Draugr was good, and creepy when put into perspective. I felt the hairs of my arms raise too just picturing undead Nordic mummies running to me with axes.

I got a kick out of this line! Pretty soon he'll be Arvel the Forgotten as that place was made his tomb. After he got the claw, I cheered when he was reunited with some of that ale and some good breakfest to fill his belly. Nothing better. All he needs is a woman at his side . . . no? Too soon?

Good read!

Posted by: jack cloudy Jul 13 2013, 10:02 PM

Spent some time reading today and got all caught up. First a random thing that has always bothered me. Namely, the bandit at the trapped gate. Arvel the careless has gone through already, suggesting that the puzzle had been solved. But when Val (or any player) gets there, the gate is closed and the mechanism is set to kill, not open. Did it automatically reset and the bandit didn't check, or did the bandit close it behind Arvel and then mess around with it so he could kill himself later.

Thinking about it now, I'm going with the automatic reset. It makes the bandit seem less stupid.


Val's inherited temper is worrying for sure, but I do like to see that after his outburst he doesn't fall apart. He worries of course, but he still keeps his attention at the more pressing matters of the moment. I also liked how Val didn't trust the thief for a second, but freed him anyway cause he's not a coldblooded murderer.


And yeah, the first time I entered a barrow and the corpses got up, I freaked out. I'd never seen anything like it happen in Oblivion or Morrowind. Rest assured that I very soon picked up the habit of making sure any corpses were actual corpses.

Posted by: Grits Jul 15 2013, 10:17 PM

OK, catching up!

I loved how Val looked forward to his afternoon walk in the woods.

Wow, the whole icy bridge scene was fun to read!

Whoa, Val’s anger management could become a big issue. His current method of dealing with it (apply alcohol, pretend it’s not a problem) doesn’t sound like a long-term plan. I am of course thoroughly rooting for Val in all situations, so you’re making me feel some real concern for him!

Oh, that dream. “Come as I know you must.” *shiver* I’m seeing hints that Val will have some business with dragons.

So…don’t pull the lever….yet…

Caution? That’s the Bosmer blood talking.

I’m enjoying the potion names!

Those eyes were still open, rolled upward and exposing nothing but the reds.

Gross, very clever, and also LOL.

When I entered the settlement, I saw Hod walking toward the mill. I waved and smiled, but he just nodded back and went about his business.

Just one of many delightful moments between your characters that come across as so clear and true.

Love the screenshot! Every time Val thinks about the puzzle and that claw I wonder which of his arguing sides will win.

(Regarding the gate lever trap, I always thought that Arvel closed it behind himself since he was trying to pull a fast one on his fellow thieves.)

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jul 16 2013, 04:55 AM

First things first...

@ Acadian - And we’re left with a couple mysteries. -- Not for long...

@ SubRosa - I loved your description of Orgnar's smile as being a grimace. -- The guy comes off as such a cold fish, doesn't he?

@ mALX - Loved the screenshot, is that a pose mod to catch him drinking ale like that? -- That is part of a mod, but not a pose mod. It is part of http://skyrim.nexusmods.com/mods/26228/. Glad you liked it.

@ Darkness Eternal - Pretty soon he'll be Arvel the Forgotten as that place was made his tomb. -- Not soon enough for Val I'm afraid...

@ jack cloudy - Regarding the gate...Thinking about it now, I'm going with the automatic reset. It makes the bandit seem less stupid. -- In game, on the other side, there is a pull chain that resets the trap. Like Grits said after your post, I always assumed Arvel reset it before he became Arvel the Stuck.

@ Grits - Welcome back from "self-imposed exile"! Great to have you back and I do hope it was enjoyable (as if the beach could not be). His current method of dealing with it (apply alcohol, pretend it’s not a problem) -- This is definitely one of Val's biggest problems in life, drinking his troubles away.

*****
@ All Of You - A heartfelt thanks once again for your support and comments. As always, they mean a great deal to me.
****

Previously - Valrimor had fought thieves and Draugr to find the Golden Claw and has returned to The Riverwood Trader with Lucan’s stolen artifact…

22nd Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

Lucan’s eyes went as wide as his smile. He came out from behind the counter, took the claw from me, and shook my hand while thanking me for a job well done. Then he returned to his counter and placed the claw on a small stand that appeared to be designed for it, setting both on a display shelf behind him. I stood there a moment, and then made a theatrical throat-clearing sound.

“Oh yes, your payment,” he said as he reached under the counter, “Here you are.” He tossed me a leather pouch full of coins. I didn’t bother counting it in front of him. I knew where to find him if it was short.

“Listen,” I said, “the thief that had the claw also wrote a journal about how he knew what it was for. Would that be worth anything to you?”

“Not really. I don’t care what it’s for. I just like the thing. And who knows? Maybe some collector of rare artifacts will purchase it for twice what I paid you to retrieve it,” Lucan postulated with a greedy grin.

“Then that would make the journal valuable as well, if you sold them as a set,” I suggested, raising a brow to emphasize the idea.

Lucan pondered the idea for a moment and then offered store credit for the journal because he couldn’t spare any more Septims. I agreed and handed over the journal. He shook my hand again to seal the deal. I used some of that credit immediately to stock up on food, purchasing enough for two days on the road. Lucan began making a list, writing furiously as I started snatching items from his shelves. Bread, cheese, jerked venison, some apples, and bottled water were all going into my pack as fast as I could grab them. I also found a pair of gloves and a scarf, adding them to my pack as Lucan continued to scribble away. I didn’t know how far Whiterun was, and I wasn’t going anywhere again without some cold weather gear. Thanking Lucan, who was still dutifully listing items on my tab, I left The Riverwood Trader. I planned on spending the rest of the day here in Riverwood. I had become solvent enough to restock my quiver and get some decent food and rest before going to see the Jarl in Whiterun. So my next stop was Alvor’s shop to fill my quiver with new arrows. After that, I spent the afternoon in the woods harvesting alchemical agents and trying to relax. I returned to the inn at dusk.

Delphine was using the alchemy lab when I entered, so I went over to the bar to order some supper and a goblet of wine. This evening’s special was venison steaks with baked potatoes and grilled leeks. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the food was placed before me. In what seemed like mere moments, I was washing the last bite down with my second goblet of wine. Sated and seeing that Delphine was finished with her elixirs, I rose and carried a recently refilled wine goblet over to the alchemy table.

Thistle and purple mountain flower were plentiful near the settlement. I had collected enough to concoct several vials of potion for resisting the effects of cold. My mother used to call it “Fuzzy Blanket”, and would add some to our food on particularly cold nights in Bruma. That sudden memory stung me deeply. I slugged down the rest of my goblet to push the thought away and refocused on the task at hand. I had also found plenty of blue mountain flowers and captured several butterflies, so I stocked up on fresh healing potions. I cleaned up the station when I finished, paid Orgnar his fee, and had one more wine before I went to bed for the night.



23rd Last Seed, 4E201

The thought of food turned my stomach. The previous night’s libations had effectively killed any appetite for breakfast. After some hot herbal tea to ease the effects, I headed out into a morning that was grey and damp. I frowned at the sky and at the moisture hitting my upturned face. It was not the perfect traveling weather to be sure, but at least the rain was not much heavier than a steady mist. I headed north from Riverwood, crossing the bridge and turning right to continue following the river along the west bank. My mood was as bleak as the day. I had slept fitfully, even with a head full of wine, plagued by dreams that were not the least bit pleasant. The recurring dragon dream in particular still hung in my thoughts like the threatening clouds above me. There was a new twist to the nightmare this time. The dragon that was speaking was the very same dragon that had attacked Helgen. I will never forget that view I had from the headsman’s block, those red eyes peering into my very soul. It was definitely the same beast.

“Come as you must and as I have foreseen, but in the end, you will grovel before me,” the dragon had said.

I have never been one to put much stock in dreams. Except for the fact that I had actually encountered this particular beast, none of my dreams have ever come true, so why bother? Still, the vision haunted me, along with thoughts of my outbursts at the barrow. All of this kept my spirits low as I continued my journey northward.

My distracted and depressed state was almost my undoing. Instead of being alert, I was just shuffling along, looking down at the road, oblivious to my surroundings. Suddenly there was growl and I was knocked off my feet by a leaping wolf. Fortunately, the snapping jaws had not been able to make a purchase on my armor. The wolf’s momentum carried it off of me and sent it tumbling into the grass. A second wolf charged from the brush just as I had readied my sword to face the first, and knocked the blade from my grip. It clattered down the rocky roadway out of my reach. There was no time to unsling my bow and nock an arrow as both wolves quickly regained their footing and turned to charge again. With nothing else to do, I turned and ran. The wolves began pursuit immediately. I knew there was no way I could outrun the beasts. I caught a glimpse of a low hanging branch ahead of me and I made an all or nothing gambit to leap for the bough. It paid off as I swung upward onto the branch inches above the snarling fangs of my attackers. The branch creaked and groaned under my weight, but held as the wolves circled and growled below me. The palms of my hands burned with scrapes from the tree bark.

You got deer pellets for brains, Val! You know better than to shamble along like wolves don’t even exist!

Now that I was out of their reach, it was a simple matter. I reached inward for my animal command and instantly had the wolves at each other instead being interested in eating me. I sent a few arrows down from my perch and in moments both wolves were dead and yielding their pelts. I tossed their carcasses into the brush and retrieved my sword. Now I was angry instead of depressed, but definitely more alert as I continued along my route. The road began a series of sharp switchbacks as the grade became very steep. The river was roaring down a series of falls to my right, and I stopped for a moment to watch the salmon struggling to make their way upstream. I could relate to their exercise, as much of my life had seemed to be an upstream battle. I looked further north to discover that the forest was giving way to tundra covered plains. If the weather had been better, the view would have been breathtaking. I could just make out the dim silhouette of a city in the distance, shrouded in grey mist. Presumably that would be Whiterun. It was at that moment that it hit me…

I used Magicka…without even thinking twice about it. I just did it…like it was natural. Damnit Val! You swore an oath over thirty years ago. And now look at you…using your temper like a blast furnace and willing animals as though it was an everyday thing! What in Oblivion is wrong with you?

I shuddered and forced myself to walk, grumbling curses under my breath. To keep my mind from wandering back to nightmares, Magicka, and upstream battles, I focused on my surroundings and collected alchemical ingredients as I walked. Mountain flowers of every type were readily available, as well as mora tampinella fungus, thistle, lavender, and then tundra cotton. I also managed to snag a few butterflies. At the bottom of the hill, my way had reached a crossroads. A sign posted at the corner advised a left turn to get to Whiterun. I dutifully obeyed, walking away from the river. There was a building just ahead on the left. When I was close enough to read the placard that swayed in the breeze, my mouth began watering. “Honningbrew Meadery” it proclaimed, with a stylized beehive beneath the script.

Maybe they have tours with free samples…

Free samples or not, nothing brings me out a funk better than some good mead. I decided that the Jarl could wait a bit while I quenched my thirst and shed this dismal mood. Inside, the main room looked like that of a typical tavern. There was an array of tables and chairs, and a bar along the back wall. A balding man, slight of build, stood behind the bar.

“Good afternoon,” the man said with a Cyrodillic accent, “I am Sabjorn, owner and proprietor of Honningbrew Meadery.”

“And a good day to you as well,” I replied, “I’ve recently tried some of your mead for the first time. I must say that it was some of the best mead I have ever tasted.”

“Well I’m glad to hear that,” Sabjorn beamed, “We use only the finest natural honey, not that sludge you will find at Goldenglow Farms.”

“It appears you serve food here as well. I’d like to order some supper and a bottle of your product.”

“Certainly,” said Sabjorn. He handed me a menu and said he would take my order when he returned with my mead. While I waited, I could hear a steady dull droning sound. Looking around, I was unable to discern the source. I asked Sabjorn about it when he returned.

“It’s the bees,” he replied, giving me an odd little glance, as if I should have known that. He placed the bottle of mead and an empty grail on the bar in front of me and then went on to explain, “Their hives are right outside the back door. This time of day, they are returning from their pollen gathering, so the buzzing is more noticeable.”

“I see…well…I am ready to order. I’ll have a bowl of the fish soup please.”

“That is an excellent choice, sir. I shall return shortly,” he said, giving a slight nod and another odd look before going back to the kitchen. I filled the grail with mead and took a healthy swig. It was just as tasty as the other night, but still just a touch sweeter than I was used to. Sabjorn returned with my soup and asked if I would care for anything else.

“Actually, there is something. I would love a tour of your facility-”

“I knew it! You’re no customer in off the road. You’re a spy, sent by those envious mongrels at Goldenglow or Black-Briar! Get out!” he yelled, snatching away the bowl of soup and bottle of mead.

With that, the little bald mead-maker stormed off into the kitchen. I stood there, jaw agape and befuddled. Apparently, the mead business was very competitive around here. Shrugging, I quaffed the rest of what was in my grail and walked out.

EDIT: Nit picked...

Posted by: mALX Jul 16 2013, 10:40 AM

*

That mod sounds great!

First off, I love the way you are dating this, almost like Val is keeping a diary of his daily actions - really nice idea!

The wolf attacks - I couldn't believe how many of those wolves there were, I couldn't get five feet without hearing a growl till I leveled up a bit, lol. (then it was saber cats, but not half as many of them).

I love Val's idea of climbing the tree - at first I thought he'd be stuck up there for days, lol. It is always so interesting when he has fights, he so rarely has an easy victory, something always happens - that makes it interesting, Love that about this story! Grits's story is the same way, something different always happens that sends the fight into a whole different and fascinating direction, you two both have a knack for keeping the reader's interest in battle!

ROFL !!! Spies! I loved this! I don't know how I missed it, but I never saw this brewery! Loved this update, keep up the great work! Awesome Write!


*

Posted by: Acadian Jul 16 2013, 09:47 PM

So Val earns enough septims and credit to fill both belly and quiver. And get some proper cold weather gear as well. The only thing missing is. . . oh, there it is: Wine! Uh oh. . . now Val’s cooking potions while drinking.

Not a very good night, between wine sloshing in his belly and dragons filling his head. But it’s on the road again the next morning – notably distracted. I remember the last time he was walking along distracted and got surprised. . .

. . . Wolves!

‘You got deer pellets for brains, Val! You know better than to shamble along like wolves don’t even exist!’ - -

Commanding the wolves seemed as natural as breathing to me as well, but I can see why Val, with his dislike of magic, is troubled by it.

Hmm, let’s try mead tonight and see if it causes less trouble than the wine of the previous evening. Drat! Doesn’t that mead maker recognize and appreciate a mead connoisseur when he meets one?!?


Nit - - ‘You sore an oath over thirty years ago.’ - - I’m thinking you meant ‘swore’ an oath?

Posted by: SubRosa Jul 16 2013, 10:39 PM

Then he returned to his counter and placed the claw on a small stand that appeared to be designed for it, setting both on a display shelf behind him.
This was a nice touch. It's no wonder it was stolen. The way he puts it right on the front counter in the game I have trouble not taking it! At least in your world, everybody who walks in the shop is not going to take it by accident too.

Love Val's hondling to sell Arvel's Journal. His logic is indeed airtight.

What a wonderful description of Fuzzy Blanket and its use, complete with the bad memory it dredged up.

So hungover, tired, and morose, Val is trudging north to Jarl Ballin's rocking fun house. No wonder he missed those wolves on the way. They did not miss him however!

Maybe they have tours with free samples…
This had me grinning. It is exactly the sort of thing I have come to expect from Val!

Val an industrial spy! Oh noes! At least he got to finish his mead before he was thrown out.

Posted by: Grits Jul 19 2013, 11:00 PM

Aww, Fuzzy Blanket!

That was a disquieting walk down from Riverwood after an unsettling night, and then the mishap at the meadery! No refuge there for Val.

I really enjoyed this update. I hope Val will find some friendly faces in Whiterun, even though he carries some scary news.

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jul 20 2013, 05:17 PM

First things first...

As always, I want to thank everyone that commented on the previous installment. You all spur me to keep writing with your kind comments. Thanks!

@ mALX - I actually started putting dates because of the Interludes, since they needed to be dated to give perspective. And since this is a journal of sorts, the fit was natural.

@ Acadian - Commanding the wolves seemed as natural as breathing to me as well, but I can see why Val, with his dislike of magic, is troubled by it. -- An Interlude is coming soon that is finally going to explain in detail why Val is so anti-Magicka...stay tuned.

@ SubRosa - So hungover, tired, and morose, Val is trudging north to Jarl Ballin's rocking fun house. -- When I saw the "Jarl Ballin" reference, I had to laugh at the memory of that video...too funny!

@ Grits - Aww, Fuzzy Blanket! -- I have been trying to give potions names, instead of their generic titles. Fuzzy Blanket seemed like something a mother would name a Resist Frost potion. Glad you liked it.

*****

Author's Note - Many of you have played Skyrim and are familiar with the NPC Aela the Huntress. For those of you that haven't played the game, please do not confuse her with Aela from SubRosa's current story. She is a completely diffferent character. Since Aela the Huntress plays such a small role in my story, I didn't bother changing her name.

*****

Previously -Valrimor had made his way to the outskirts of Whiterun, after a close call with wolves. He has just been kicked out of Honningbrew Meadery by the owner, who believed he was a competitor’s spy…

23rd Last Seed, 4E201 – Continued

I was still shaking my head after Sabjorn’s outburst, and I was still thirsty. I headed west on the road again, determined to get to Whiterun and more libations as soon as possible. The clouds had broken, and the lowering sun was sending golden shafts of light through the breaks in the western sky. The landscape was almost treeless. Grasses that had browned in the late summer sun stretched across the tundra for as far as the eye could see. A large creek flowed eastward into the river that I had followed north from Riverwood. Farms dotted the low rolling hills near the city. I was approaching one of these when I noticed activity in a field near the road. I could not believe my eyes as I drew closer to the farm. A giant, brandishing a monstrous club, was in a battle with three men. I had heard that there were giants in Skyrim, but I had dismissed the idea as legend.

Just like dragons are legends…

The battle had ended by the time I reached back for my bow. Leaving it slung, I broke into a trot toward the field. The giant lay slain and two of the warriors were tending to the third that appeared to have been wounded during the fight. As I arrived, one of them stood and faced me. She was a fit and attractive Nord, with dark war paint making three diagonal stripes across her face. She wore tight fitting armor that accentuated her figure. The open areas, while pleasing to the eye, left too many vulnerable points for what I considered to be adequate protection.

“Paint a picture, it will last longer, and wipe that drool from your chin while you’re at it,” she scoffed as I suddenly realized I was staring. I wiped what must have been some left over mead from my beard and started to apologize, but she cut me off, “And thanks for the help, by the way.”

“What happened here?” I asked, a little put off by her demeanor.

“You’re not very observant for a drooling gawker. A giant attacked the farm. What did you think happened?” she retorted.

“First of all, that was mead, not drool! Second, why are you brow beating me? You don’t even know me!” I barked back angrily.

“So you do have a spine,” she replied with a wry grin, “We could have used your help here. Now one of my Shield-Sisters is down while your weapons remain stowed.”

She looked back down at her fallen comrade, and my gaze followed. A male Nord in steel armor was tending to the wounded Shield-Sister. Just then, he looked up and said, “Ria’s going to be fine, Aela. Her shoulder was dislocated, but I have popped it back into place. We should get her back to Jorrvaskr so she can rest.”

Aela looked back at me, sizing me up with her eyes, and said, “You look like you could hold your own in a fight. You should consider joining the Companions, unless that blade on your hip is merely decoration.”

I bit my tongue and overlooked the provocation by asking, “And what are the Companions?”

“We are a group of honorable warriors that lend a hand when trouble shows its face. Well, when the coin is right, that is,” she replied.

The word “coin” got my complete attention. I had been a hired bow many times before, although not always as an “honorable warrior”. The Nord had helped Ria to her feet. Aela took position at her Shield-Sister’s other side. The two uninjured Companions aided the third to start walking down the road.

“Wait,” I said, “If I were interested in joining your group, who would I speak to, and where might they be found?”

“Kodlak Whitemane. You will find him in the halls of Jorrvaskr, in Whiterun. He will ultimately decide if you are worthy of being a Companion,” Aela replied over her shoulder as they walked away.

I turned back to the beast that lay dead before me. I had never seen a giant before, and I was interested in examining this second legend that had come to life out of stories. If it were standing, the giant would easily have been double my height. It appeared to be male, an assumption I made because it had a beard and no clothing above the waist. It was very well muscled with pale grey skin. The only clothing it wore was a fur loin cloth adorned with a troll skull. My attention went to his cudgel lying next to his body. The enormous weapon appeared to be the trunk of a small tree that had a large stone bound into its roots by leather straps. I tried to heft the club and could barely get my hands around it, let alone lift it off the ground, attesting to the brute strength of the creature. I would certainly be sure to steer clear of any of its kind if I came across them.

As farm workers headed toward me, presumably to remove the huge corpse, I turned and headed toward Whiterun. The three Companions had already moved on out of sight. The sun was setting now, and casting a brilliant orange glow to the underside of the retreating violet clouds. I passed another farm before reaching a sign that directed me up a side road toward the north. This took me past a stable and up to the gate of the city proper, where I was met by a torch bearing guard.

“Halt! The city is closed with dragons about. Official business only!” stated the guard in a stern tone. He wore an ochre colored tabard draped over his mail armor and a full face conical helmet that had a small spike at the top.

“The Jarl already knows of the dragon attack?” I asked.

“Of course he does. Who do you think ordered the city gates closed?” he replied.

“Well, I have been asked by the citizens of Riverwood to speak to the Jarl on their behalf, regarding the defense of their village,” I stated in my best official sounding voice.

“Riverwood is in danger too? You better go on in then. You will find the Jarl in Dragonsreach, at the top of the hill. This way,” the guard directed.

As we walked toward the gate, I asked the guard about a place to sleep for the night. He suggested The Bannered Mare, saying the food and drink were good and reasonably priced. After he opened the gate, the guard pointed down the main street.

"Just follow it to the end and you can't miss it," he said.

"Thanks," I replied, and then I entered the city of Whiterun.

Ah, an actual city! First order of business, a room and some ale at this Bannered Mare…the Jarl can wait ‘til morning…

Lit braziers were strategically placed along the street, providing light that was just now becoming beneficial in the dusk. The buildings reminded me of Bruma, which sent a momentary pang of sorrow through my heart. I shoved that pain aside, replacing it with my elation at being back in civilization. I have always liked cities. Many have asked me how this could be, being Bosmer and all. While it is true that the woodlands sing to my heart, there is also a part of me that can’t resist the lure of a smokey tavern, with ale and music that beckon to my inner Nord. Contests of skill and chance, like dice or darts, mixed with the camaraderie of like-minded folk sharing jokes, or tales of heroic deeds. I was looking forward to finding such at The Bannered Mare.

As I walked up the street, I could not help but overhear a portion of conversation between a man and woman in front of a blacksmith’s shop. Something about making weapons for the Imperials. That’s when I looked closer and noticed the man was wearing Imperial armor. I suddenly remembered that I should be wary of Imperial soldiers. I looked away quickly and sped up, lest I be recognized as an escaped prisoner from Helgen.

At the end of the main street was a small plaza. Several kiosks dotted the perimeter, obviously vendor’s shops that had closed for the evening. I could hear music, and a mixture of laughing and singing, coming from the building in front of me. It was fairly large, with multiple levels. A steep roof with large wooden shingles obviously designed to shed snow quickly in the winter added to the inn’s height. Each gable was crowned with a horse head of carved wood. The sign in front confirmed this to be my destination, The Bannered Mare. I entered and immediately smiled as I took in the aromas of food and pipe smoke. The patrons were all enjoying the music and the company of their fellows. A voice shouted from the bar.

“Come in and sit down. We just stoked the fire,” beckoned the female publican.

I saw no reason at all not to oblige her. In a similar style to The Sleeping Giant, this inn had a long fire pit that ran through the center of the main hall. Perhaps all inns in Skyrim had this feature. I found an open space to sit and was met with the welcoming smile of a beautiful Redguard serving girl.

“Can I get you food, or drink, or something else?” she asked.

I eyed her up and down, then smiled and said, “A mug of ale would be fine for now.”

She returned my smile and promised to return quickly. I looked around the room. Almost every seat was filled with people from all stations of society. There were well dressed wealthy folk and armored fighting types. At one table was an overly inebriated man in threadbare peasant’s garb that could barely hold his head up. At another sat a Nordic woman with a face as hard as her steel armor. The two serving girls were kept busy, both with orders for food and drink, and with keeping the hands of men clear of their backsides.

My server soon returned with my ale. I thanked her and asked who I should speak to about renting a room. She pointed me to the woman behind the bar and said, “Speak to Hulda. She is the owner.” Just then, a drunken man grabbed her and spun her around. He tried to get her to dance with him, but instead, he tripped and landed hard on his behind. This incited a round of raucous laughter from all that had witnessed it, including myself. I raised my stein and downed the entire contents without stopping, then got up to go talk to Hulda about a room.

This is my kind of place…

I squeezed in between two men that were seated at the bar and raised my mug to get Hulda’s attention. She spotted me straight away and came over.

“You need a refill?” she asked.

“Sure, and the serving girl said I would need to see you about renting a room,” I replied.

“That’s correct. I have one room left. Ten Septims for the night,” Hulda said as she took my stein toward a cask.
When she returned, I paid her for the ale and the room. Hulda placed the coins in a pocket of her apron and said, “Thank you. Come, I’ll show you to your room,” then hollered to one of the serving girls, “Saadia, watch the bar while I show this guest to his room.”

The Redguard serving girl that had tended to me earlier walked behind the bar as the publican led me to my room. Hulda was a Nord and attractive for her age, having kept her figure through the years. My eyes could not help but notice the sway below her apron strings as we made our way upstairs.

"Here you are," she said as she opened the door to her last available room, "Let me know if I can get anything else for you, but I do hope you will be coming back down to the main hall before retiring.”

“Oh, you can count on it,” I replied with a smile.

*****

EDIT - Nits picked.

Posted by: mALX Jul 20 2013, 09:29 PM

BWAAHAA! Love the confrontation between Aela and Val! He always seems to come across at a disadvantage in one-on-one’s, ROFL!

Really good showing of how the two heritages call to him, each in their own way. Loved that!

Whiterun is my favorite city in Skyrim; although I never got the Player house in it. Maxical lived out of the Bannered Mare, chopped wood there for her room and board, and made a deal with the Smithy on using their forge (etc) to earn income. (mining ore/hunting pelts/making items for them to sell out of their store there). Really loved Whiterun.

Now I worry he’ll drink too much and brawl, getting tossed out, ROFL!! Awesome Write!!

Posted by: Acadian Jul 20 2013, 10:44 PM

It seems Aela is likely not an archer. I don’t expect she would have appreciated Val rushing to set up and risk the friendly fire of an inaccurate arrow into a frenzied melee of three allies and one foe – even if the foe was a large one. I’m glad to see him return a bit of her caustic attitude. The scene, however, along with the following one in the Bannered Mare does show that Val has an eye for the ladies and a taste for not only ale, but games of chance as well. I’m sure he was pleased to get a tankard in his hand (finally)!

So, mayhaps Whiterun might serve double duty as Val tries to discharge his promise to those in Riverwood, then possibly looks into these Companions.

Posted by: jack cloudy Jul 22 2013, 08:22 PM

Oh Val, you naughty naughty man.


I wondered about Aela's outfit as well, then I realized that with her habits she naturally prefers something...self-dissassembling.


I do have to laugh at how Val goes straight to the Bannered Mare. The man with the brewery won't give any honey-liquor? Well then our Nordmer will just have to beeline to an alternative source of sweet sweet alcohol.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jul 23 2013, 05:34 PM

Well, I kept my promise. Finally caught up and am pleasantly surprised by this story. It is well-written, and more importantly to someone old-school like me, well-crafted. It doesn't matter how cool the character is, or how excellent the plot, if the writing doesn't - well, flow - then sorry, I'm not spending any time with it. I have to say that your writing flows very well - so well that I quite enjoyed reading this from Val's perspective. The fact that you so obviously take care with the technical aspects of your story really lets your creativity and storytelling abilities shine.

In my reading, I did spot a nit that was apparently missed, back in Chapter 14. Of course, I don't blame anyone for missing it - the chapter read so well that only my well-honed peeve on this particular error caused me to spot it.

In this context this should be its. The possessive form, which you are using here, runs counter to the rules and does not contain the apostrophe. The apostrophe is actually used for the contraction of it is.

Another nit, again a minor one, is here in Chapter 17: I think you are missing an a in front of the horse's head here. There, nits picked!

Again in Chapter 17 I spotted something that kind of rubs me in a stylistic sense. For the most part, you are consistent in using active verbs for your sentences. But here: I see the changes in verb tense from passive to active voice. In my writing, I try to avoid using is, was, be, etc. with second verbs. It just kind of breaks the spell, so to speak, to see this happen. I can only think of one other instance in your story where I spotted this (was it the third chapter, or maybe the fifth?). I would prefer to see this sentence rewritten something like this: While he opened the gate, the soldier described the inn's location at the far end of the main street Sometimes it can be tough to figure out how to write sentences that are natural in cadence and syntax, yet avoid the common pitfalls of what I consider lazy writing (or editing). That said, let me assure you that I do not see laziness at work in your writing! It's rare enough here that I thought I would point this out to you. I do not know if you are conscious of this and work to edit it out (and thus missed this one instance), or if you rarely put your sentences down like this that you are not aware of it at all.

Enough of the editorial critique! On to the meat of this story!

As alcoholism runs in my family (well, yeah, we're a mix of German and Italian, so plenty of drinkin' genes here!), I recognized the signs right off. It doesn't make Val a bad character - not at all. It makes him a flawed character, and one I find myself caring very much about. With my medical background, I am wondering if his recent issues with control of his Magicka has to do with his drinking, which seems to progress as the story winds on (in a most pleasant way, let me hasten to add). So now I'm wondering if something not yet identified is triggering the drinking, or if we are only seeing more of it because now he is in Skyrim, the land of home-brewed mead. Would we have seen the same had he spend time in Skingrad, with its vineyards? Hmmm.

In spite of this, Val has some well-honed survival skills which are essential, I gather, in this new land. Well, new to me, at least.

And he is definitely of the heterosexual inclination, with a nice, well-developed libido. Which makes me wonder when is he going to get lucky? Or is he holding out for the "right one?"

Need I say that I'm looking forward to more?

Posted by: Grits Jul 25 2013, 10:17 PM

Well he already knows there are dragons about. Why not rest and rehydrate first?

I thoroughly enjoyed Val’s entrance into Whiterun. I have enough affection for him already that I’m worried his temper will interfere with the otherwise friendly brawling opportunities at the Mare.

Loved the thoughts about Val’s Bosmer/Nord draw toward both forests and lively company. As ever I’m looking forward to what the rest of the evening will bring.

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jul 26 2013, 05:27 AM

First things first... I apologize for not getting any posts up in "Commentasaurus"... Things have been hectic lately with work and family.

@ mALX - Somehow I knew you would get a kick out of the Val / Aela exchange.

Now I worry he’ll drink too much and brawl -- Valrimor? Drink too much? LOL

@ Acadian - Actually, in the game, Aela is indeed an expert archer and a trainer in the ability. There are several side quests that feature her (which makes for some interesting writing material), but Val's story won't be following that path anytime soon.

@ jack cloudy - Val is not a naughty guy...he's just needs to get...well, we have female readers, but you know what I mean.

@ haute ecole rider - Welcome to the story. So glad to have you here and receive your input. Thanks for pointing out the nits...they have been picked. I also want to thank you for the critique regarding verb usage. It's the kind of stuff I want to know because I have zero training in creative writing.

...he is definitely of the heterosexual inclination, with a nice, well-developed libido. Which makes me wonder when is he going to get lucky? -- Soon... I am glad you are enjoying Val's adventures so far.

@ Grits - Why not rest and rehydrate first? -- Val's thoughts exactly!

*****

@ Everyone - Thanks as always for your kind comments and critiques. Y'all are awesome!

*****

Author's Note - This is where Interlude 3 begins. When I was writing it, it was one of those nights that the words seemed to just pour onto the pages. Before I knew it, I was over 3,000 words. So, this Interlude (which is the last one) will be busted into two parts. As with the other Interludes, it is dated for reference and narrated in third person instead of Val doing the narration. I do hope you enjoy Part One of the last of Val's backstory.

*****

2nd Evening Star, 4E167

It was his eighteenth birthday, but Valrimor did not feel like celebrating. The Nords of Bruma considered this day to be a coming of age event, and treated it with special significance. Most of his friends had already reached eighteen. Their parties had been boisterous affairs with plenty of food, music, and mead. The celebrant was always the lone competitor in a drinking contest, trying to break the local record for how many tankards of mead could be quaffed prior to passing out. The current record was held by Langmar Cleaver-Fist. He was a friend of Val’s and had turned eighteen earlier this year. Lang had managed to put away twenty-two tankards before falling face first into the ample breast of the serving girl. That earned him a nickname to replace Cleaver-Fist with one that had to do with his hawkish nose and the voluptuous chest of the waitress.

Recalling that night brought a slight smile to Val’s lips, but it did not linger long. His mother let out a deep sigh and this refocused his mind to the task at hand. He scooped the last spoonful of stew from the bowl and fed it to Ellinar. She slurped it down dutifully and Val wiped the excess from her chin.

“That’s good Ma. You finished it all. Are you ready for a seat by the fire?” Val asked his mother.

She answered with another sigh which Val took as an affirmative answer. He helped Elli up from her chair, leading her to another near the fireplace hearth. Placing a shawl over her shoulders, he leaned over and kissed her cheek, then bade her to stay there while he cleaned up the supper dishes. Not that she would have moved. She never moved anywhere without prompting these days. Val collected the dishes from the table and went to the basin in the kitchen, his brow furrowed with concern.

Ellinar’s depression had steadily worsened ever since Harlan Bjornsen had returned to Bruma. He was the man who had hired her husband as a bodyguard so many years ago. It seemed that their party had been attacked by brigands. Harlan reported that Erik was nowhere to be found after the battle, and stated that for all he knew, the bandits had taken his bodyguard as prisoner. He did not wish to sully Erik’s name the only other possible conclusion, which was that the man had merely run off during the fight. Regardless, Harlan could not confirm what had happened to Erik, or whether the man still lived. Ellinar had already begun her slide into blackness well before this happened, but the news that Erik’s return now seemed highly unlikely sent her over the edge.

Now she was a shell of her former self. Sometimes she would weep for hours. When she wasn’t crying, she would just sit and stare off into nowhere, almost catatonic. She had long since stopped caring for herself, so it was up to Valrimor to do it for her. He would feed her, dress her, and now he even had to bathe her. She wasn’t physically ill, but her mind had gone totally black with despair. The times that she became animated terrified Val the most. She would look at him and suddenly shriek with wide-eyed panic, begging him to get away from her and not hurt her again. Val couldn’t figure out why she would ever even think such thoughts. Sometimes, after these episodes passed, she would apologize to him, saying it was because he looked so much like his father. This would confuse Val even further, but he usually shrugged it off as a side effect of her deteriorating mental state.

Val let out a sigh of his own as he finished cleaning up and went to the fireside, sitting in a chair next to his mother. He picked up a book that was on the table between them and opened it to the marked page. He would read a few chapters aloud to her, though she never gave a hint that any of it was getting through. This was a nightly ritual that seemed to calm his mother before bed and help her sleep through the night. When he had concluded this evening’s reading, he helped her to bed, tucking her in and kissing her on the cheek.

“I love you Ma,” he said as he extinguished the bedside candles.

When Val was satisfied that she was sleeping peacefully, he left and walked up to Olav’s. He knew that he would be able to escape his dark mood in the tavern, at least for a short while. Val had become quite the regular customer, often working off his bar tab by cutting firewood or cleaning up after closing time. He really couldn’t afford to spend money in the tavern. Any coin he had went toward supporting his mother. But tonight was his birthday, so he wouldn’t have to spend one Septim. Pietor Guldsen was the first to notice that Valrimor had entered the tavern.

“Well, well, well…the birthday boy has finally decided to join us,” Pete said from his stool at the bar, “Come Valrimor, it is time to see if you can beat Lang’s record.”

At this, Langmar chimed in, “Wait Pete, perhaps he is too weary from battling dragons in his sleep.”

“Stuff a cask in that mead hole of yours, Cleavage-Beak! I’m not in the mood for your quips tonight,” Val snapped, then instantly felt remorse for barking at his friend. He apologized to Lang as he took a stool at the bar. Pietor placed a tankard of mead in front of him and raised his own in a toast.

“To Valrimor, a good boy turned good man on this day. Happy Birthday, friend!”

A round of cheers and raised mugs from everyone he knew brightened Val’s mood a bit, and he raised his own tankard as well, clanking it off those of his comrades and chugging the entire contents before placing it on the bar. Lang looked at him and said, “So, why the black mood on this of all days?”

“It’s my Ma,” Val replied while trading his empty tankard for a full one, “She is getting worse. I don’t know what to do. It is taking all of my time to care for her. Staying at home is preventing any chance for income, and money is getting tight.”

Lang and Pete exchanged glances and then asked Valrimor to escort them to a table at the back of the tavern. The three of them rose, with Lang grabbing a flagon of mead to take with them. When they were seated, it was Valrimor that spoke first.

“So, what gives?” he asked.

“Val, we see the pain you are enduring,” said Langmar, “and we want to help you. We think you should take your mother to the Temple of Mara in Bravil. There are healers there that could help her.”

“NO!” replied Val with more vehemence than he had intended. He continued in softer tones, “I won’t have acolytes performing Magicka on my mother. Nothing but ill comes from those arcane forces.”

“We knew you would feel this way,” Pete chimed in, “but you need to face reality, my friend. You cannot cure her. I doubt there is anyone here in Bruma that can. Her condition fails to improve. You just said yourself that it is getting worse, not better. By this time next year, you will be homeless for failure to keep your taxes paid. You must take action to prevent this. She would be in good care, and perhaps even be cured.”

“And if you stayed in Bravil, you could rent your house to me,” Lang suddenly suggested, with a grin that was supposed to make the idea appealing.

Valrimor knew that the logic of his friends was undeniable. But the thought of leaving her in someone else’s care chaffed at him. Especially in the care of those that practice in the arcane. He took a healthy swig from his tankard before responding.

“How can I abandon my Ma, when it was abandonment that drove her to this state?” he asked of his comrades.

“Aye, we know it is a difficult decision, Val,” Lang answered, “and we want to help. We are willing to accompany you and see you both safely to Bravil.”

Val considered the idea further and softened his stance by agreeing to sleep on it. He downed his tankard of mead and said, “Now come on…I have twenty more of these to quaff so I can claim Cleavage-Beak’s record,” as he twirled the empty tankard on his finger.



3rd Evening Star, 4E167

Valrimor woke with his skull being used as a blacksmith’s anvil, or at least he felt like it was. As he stood, a wave of nausea struck him and he barely made it to the basin before losing the previous night’s award winning mead. Wiping his mouth, he glanced at the gold medallion lying on his dresser. A vague memory of Lang saying that he had cheated somehow brought a weak grin to his lips. When he looked back down into the basin, his stomach rolled again and he decided to go wash his face in the kitchen.

His mother was still sleeping when Val had finished cleaning up and got dressed. His thoughts went back to the proposition his friends had made. Valrimor could not recall ever having to make such a difficult decision. He knew that his friends were right. He was going to run out of money, it was only a matter of time. But he just couldn’t face the idea of abandoning his mother. No, he would not do it. Somehow, he would make ends meet staying in Bruma. With the help of the Gods, time would mend his mother’s heart and mind. Time would…not arcane priests.

Posted by: jack cloudy Jul 26 2013, 10:26 AM

Oh dear. Though the 'manhood' ritual was a nice bit of worldbuilding, I'm worried about Ellinor. She's losing her grip on reality or given her response to Val at times, the ability to distinguish between the past and the present.

I foresee that Val is going to do some desperate and stupid things to provide for the two of them, while refusing to take her to the healers at Bravil. And I can understand that. For him magic is destruction, not restoration. And speaking from an outside perspective, restoration is good at healing the flesh, but Val's mother is suffering from an injured soul. And I don't know what, if anything, the healers have for that.

Posted by: Grits Jul 26 2013, 02:30 PM

Ellinar’s decline and Val’s devotion were touching. I look forward to part two and learning the consequence of Val’s decision. Even though he has caring friends he’s very alone at eighteen, making a parent’s decision for his own mother.

Posted by: Acadian Jul 26 2013, 08:02 PM

Good choice to break this interlude into two nice bite-sized installments. When a scene whispers for you to linger and lavish depth, it is often a good idea to listen and flow with it. The results can be managed exactly as you did: simply break it up into nice enjoyable segments.

‘Sometimes, after these episodes passed, she would apologize to him, saying it was because he looked so much like his father. This would confuse Val even further,’ - - This is heartbreaking. More so because we know the violent story of Val’s conception and he does not. Grits is so right that this opening scene touchingly shows Val’s devotion to his Ma.

“Stuff a cask in that mead hole of yours, Cleavage-Beak!” - - After spending a few moments early in this episode pondering what Cleaver-Fist’s new nickname might be after his record-breaking birthday feat, I was delighted to actually learn the result here.

I enjoyed that this was set in the city of Olav’s Tap & Tack and also paid homage to the City of Mara’s healers. The proposal presented to Val really showed that, despite their rough edges, the other two young men are true friends indeed. You paused the interlude at a perfect point, allowing us to ponder the fate of Ellinar.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jul 27 2013, 05:02 AM

This is heartbreaking! So Ellinor's memories are catching up to her. It must be difficult for her to look at her near-grown son and see the man who caused her so much pain. And it's hard for Val to bear his mother's panic attacks which seem to be linked to his father, even though he doesn't realize that the man she calls his father and the man he calls his father are not one and the same. Loved the drinking contest, and even more The Cleaver's new moniker after his earlier win!

Posted by: SubRosa Jul 28 2013, 07:39 PM

determined to get to Whiterun and more libations as soon as possible.
There is nothing better than having a clear goal to motivate you!

Ah the Companions and their giant. When I first started playing my characters would always rush in to help. Then later I started wondering what the story was with that giant? We have no idea if he was a marauder threatening the farm, or if he was a peaceful fellow until he was attacked by a bunch of nasty shorties looking for glory? Ever since that thought, my characters usually just stand back and stay out of it.

the Jarl can wait ‘til morning…
My thoughts exactly! My characters never bother with him (not since it forces you deeper into the main quest). Besides, he's probably busy ballin' anyway...

A very sobering eighteenth birthday for Val. It is hard enough having a loved family member go downhill like that, it is worse when you have to care for them. It does sound like his friends are right about the Temple of Mara in Bravil. But it looks like Val is not going to go that route. At least not yet. When things get worse though, how knows?

Posted by: mALX Jul 29 2013, 11:00 AM

Oh, this started off with such a good memory that the condition his mother was in came as a shock; really sad to read...

Bless her heart, Val looking so much like his father and in her state not being able to discern.

It is so hard to correlate this loving Val taking care of his mother with the Val that grabbed that poor man’s arm in Riverwood and cost him a friendship.

This chapter was both amazingly written and heartbreaking. It doesn’t bode well if he does nothing, very worrisome. Awesome Write !!!

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jul 30 2013, 04:42 AM

I know that it has only been four days, but I wanted to get Part Two posted while Part One was still fresh. But first...

@ jack cloudy - For him magic is destruction, not restoration. -- I am so glad you see that as clearly as Val does himself. He would prefer to avoid getting Magicka involved at all costs.

@ Grits - Even though he has caring friends he’s very alone at eighteen, ... -- Indeed, as all his time is occupied at home. He has missed out on a lot.

@ Acadian - Part Two is going to a tad more than "bite sized", which I shall explain momentarily.

...what Cleaver-Fist’s new nickname might be after his record-breaking birthday feat, I was delighted to actually learn the result here. -- It was too easy...and fun!

@ haute ecole rider - It must be difficult for her to look at her near-grown son and see the man who caused her so much pain. -- This, as much as her husband never returning, is definitely at the root of her emotional shut down and her dark depression. And by proxy, Val's dilemma. I have no training or experiance with mental illness, so it has been difficult to translate to the story.

@ SubRosa - re: the giant, ...or if he was a peaceful fellow until he was attacked by a bunch of nasty shorties looking for glory? -- What an interesting concept! Val was actually ready to help, but the fight was over too quickly. But I love that idea, especially since giants in-game don't go out of their way to kill you, as long as you don't provoke them.

But it looks like Val is not going to go that route. At least not yet. When things get worse though, who knows? -- Stay tuned

@ mALX - It is so hard to correlate this loving Val taking care of his mother with the Val that grabbed that poor man’s arm in Riverwood and cost him a friendship. -- Val of 18 and Val of 51...well...people change with their circumstances. Val was only a budding alcoholic at 18...but he is still basically good at heart at 51...basically.

*****
@ Everyone - As always, thanks so much for following Val and all of your kind comments.
*****
Author's Note: - Part Two is still a bit on the longish side, at just over 2,300 words. It was too short to break it into Parts 2 and 3. So I apologize in advance for the length. I think that when you read it, you will agree that there was not a good spot to split this segment.
*****
Previously in Part One - Val has been offered some help from his friends by way of an escort to Bravil, to take his ailing mother to the Temple of Mara for healing. His aversion to Magicka has caused him to decide not to accept this offer, even though it is a logical choice...

17th Rain’s Hand, 4E169

Valrimor sat in the main hall of the temple, in a pew near the stairway that led downward to a lower level. A loud crack of thunder came quickly on the heels of a brilliant flash that had shone through the stained glass windows, briefly bathing the interior with a kaleidoscope of colors. The weather outside had been violent all afternoon. Suddenly the doors burst open as an elderly peasant woman in drenched clothing entered the temple vestibule. A gale was soaking the old woman and preventing her from closing the doors. Val rose to help her and was surprised at the force required to get them shut. With the doors finally closed, the grey haired peasant turned and thanked him, and then walked up to the altar and knelt in the puddle that was forming beneath her. Val returned to his seat and continued mulling over how he had gotten here.

It had taken almost a year and a half for Valrimor to cave in and admit defeat. The final blow had been the Imperial tax collector showing up at his door with an armed escort. Val’s inability to pay resulted in being served with eviction papers. With no other choice, Val had taken Langmar and Pietor up on their offer to escort him and his mother to Bravil. It had been a long journey. The weather had been brutal ever since they left the Jeralls. In Valrimor’s opinion, this month should be named Thunder’s Fist instead of Rain’s Hand. Another flash and peal of thunder punctuated his thoughts. They had arrived in Bravil early this morning. They procured a room at a filthy place called The Lonely Suitor Lodge. The only other inn, Silverhome on the Water, had a “No Vacancy” sign posted on the door. Lang and Pete were waiting for him back at the lodge.

His mother’s condition had not worsened, but it had not improved at all. He felt so helpless and guilty at the same time. Helpless because could not do anything for her and guilty for what he was now doing for her. Lang and Pete had kept assuring him that he was doing the right thing during the entire trip. Val couldn’t understand how doing something right could feel so wrong. The Priestess here at The Temple of Mara had agreed with Val’s friends, saying that this was the right choice. She had taken his mother downstairs and had been with her for hours now. Valrimor could only wait with a tightly twisted knot in the pit of his stomach. A squeaking door hinge and soft footsteps coming from the stairwell behind him jarred his attention back to the present. He looked up to see a young Breton acolyte approaching him, her face calm and emotionless.

“How is my mother?” Val asked with urgency.

“She is resting comfortably. The Priestess has seen to her immediate needs. She is not asleep yet, and has asked to see you,” she informed him in soft tones barely above a whisper, and with a twang in her accent that suggested she grew up near Leyawiin.

“My mother spoke?” Val asked with incredulity.

“Why…yes. She has been speaking with the Priestess for almost the entire time, and now she wishes to speak to you. Follow me please,” she replied, and turned back toward the stairwell.

Val was stunned. He sat there, staring at the Breton's back with a slack jaw. She turned and repeated her request that he follow her. Valrimor rose and obliged her, still struggling with the thought of his mother speaking normally. The ochre robed girl took him down the stairs and through a doorway, asking Val to close it behind him. They were in what appeared to be a dining hall for the temple staff. As he followed the girl through the room, Val tried to recall the last time he had heard his mother speak anything outside of a wild rant. A short hallway at the opposite end of the room led to another door that was open. Inside, Val could see fine furnishings. This was likely the sleeping quarters and office of the Priestess. There were two short staircases on either side of the hallway that led down to other doors. It was down the steps to the right that the acolyte led Valrimor. She paused in front of the door and said, “She is in here,” and opened the door for him. A moment of fear gripped Val’s heart before he entered. When he entered the room, Ellinar looked at him and smiled.

“My lovely son…please…sit,” she said, patting the bed next to her. Tears immediately welled in Val’s eyes. He couldn’t remember what it was like to hear his mother speak this way, let alone see her smile. The Priestess excused herself, requesting that Valrimor come see her in her quarters after they were finished. Her words might as well have fallen on deaf ears, as Val was entranced by the sight before him. As soon as the Priestess exited and the acolyte had closed the door behind them, his mother spoke again.

“Don’t cry, my son,” she said as Val took a seat on the bed, “It’s all right now. I need to tell you something while I can.”

“While you can?” Valrimor asked with a quivering lip. Tears had now migrated from his eyes to his cheeks.

“Yes, son, while I can. I am leaving soon,” his mother replied.

“Leaving? We just got here. Where are you going?” Val asked with an obvious tone of confusion.

“Just listen to me Valrimor. Just listen. This is not easy for me to say and I fear it will be even harder for you to hear, but it must be spoken,” his mother said.

Wiping tears from his face, Val nodded his head.

“Your father is not who you believe him to be. My husband, Erik Grey-Mane, is not the man who fathered you. Your real father died on the night that you were conceived,” said Ellinar. She paused a moment as tears of her own began to trickle down the side of her nose, and then she continued, “Your father raped me, in Imperial City, and Erik was his traveling companion. When Erik discovered what was happening, he pulled your father off of me and killed him, although I don’t believe he meant to. Your real father’s name was Jonsin and he was from Riften. That’s all I have ever cared to know about the man.”

Val’s mouth had gone agape with disbelief as his mother continued, “The two of us fled that night, for neither of us had sufficient coin to bribe the City Guard. The day you were born, I asked Erik to be your father in Jonsin’s stead. We were married that week. He felt it was best if you never knew the truth, and I agreed.”

Val shook his head. He could not believe his ears. His joy at the sound of his mother’s voice was slowly being replaced by swirling emotions of anger and sadness at being deceived. Ellinar saw this in his face.

“Erik was a good man, and I loved…no…still love him with all my heart. He would have made such a wonderful father figure for you. He treated you as his own son in the short time that he had with you. I wish you would have been older when he left, so that you could at least have memories of him,” Ellinar continued.

Valrimor’s emotional turmoil continued to build. He couldn’t believe that his mother had lied to him all of his life. She had maintained a lie that was concocted by his Da, who was not his father. He just kept shaking his head in denial, his eyes glaring at his mother and wishing she would take back what he had just heard.

“Val, I am so sorry to have deceived you. I am so sorry to have compared you to your real father. I am so sorry for everything, but I am grateful to have had this chance to tell you before I go,” she said, and then reached over to the nightstand next to her bed. She grabbed a paring knife from the fruit plate. Before Val could begin to guess her intentions, she ran the blade deeply across her throat. The immediate gush of her lifeblood soaked his face and stunned him momentarily before the anguish from what he had just witnessed burst forth.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” he screamed with a sorrow he hadn’t known was possible.

At the sound of Val’s howl, the acolyte burst in the door and froze in terror at the sight of all the blood. Val jumped to his feet and confronted the Breton, glaring with eyes of hate through his new gory mask.

“You did this to her!” he raged, “You and your arcane Priestess!” He pointed to the blood soaked bed and screamed, “She never would have done this at home! This is your fault!”

Images of a scorched Altmer in Bruma briefly danced before his eyes. Horror and heartache swirled into his rage, firing his fury like a bellows to a forge. He swung his arms toward the servant of Mara and white hot power shot from his fingertips, momentarily wrapping her in dancing tendrils of lightning. The force sent the acolyte flying backward through the doorway, landing in a heap on the hallway floor. Val walked past the smoldering corpse as though he had nothing to do with it. His rage was in control of him now, and all other emotions had been shut off. He stalked up the stairs with murderous fury and turned toward the Priestess quarters. She stood there in her doorway, petrified with fear at the sight of a blood covered madman with blue-white balls of fire in his hands. The woman never knew what hit her. Two lightning bolts as thick as Val’s arms instantly connected his palms to her skull. Her death was immediate and she crumpled to the floor as soon as the bolt released her. Two other acolytes had entered the dining hall behind Valrimor, and he just caught a glimpse of them fleeing when he turned away from the dead Priestess.

“Come back here, you arcane murderers!” Valrimor bellowed, and ran after them. He burst through the door and up the stairs to the main hall of the temple. The mages were nowhere to be seen. The peasant woman he had helped earlier shrieked at the sight of him. Val glared at her with wild eyes and simply said, “Leave this place…NOW!” The woman screamed and fled for the nearest exit.

A loud boom of thunder rattled the windows and shook the earth, accenting Valrimor’s anger as he walked between the pews toward the Altar of the Nine. The tingling power of wild Magicka coursed through his veins, itching for release. He raised his arms and nine bolts of lightning radiated outward from him, shattering each of the stained glass windows that portrayed likenesses of the Nine Divines.

Then it was over. Valrimor stood there, his power exhausted and his heart laboring under the duress of so much spent energy. He dropped to his knees at the altar, racked with anger and sorrow and no way to release it. His face was frozen in a voiceless cry as his tears turned red with his mother’s blood before they hit the floor. Lightning was flashing amidst a non-stop crescendo of thunder claps. Wind howled into the temple hall through the openings that once held beautiful glass art. A sudden rush of panic replaced his anguish. Val jumped to his feet and ran out of the temple and into the storm. Lightning chased through the sky followed by peals of thunder as he ran through the empty streets. Every time he thought he saw someone, he would duck behind a barrel or cart to hide, until he reached The Lonely Suitor Lodge. When he arrived, the main hall was empty and he sprinted up the stairs to their room. It was also empty. His friends were not there and their belongings were gone. Val’s pack, armor, and weapons were set in a neat pile on one of the beds. Leaning with his back against the closed door, soaked from the storm, Valrimor slid down the door and squatted. Panic, sorrow, and rage all fought each other for equal time in his heart and mind. He began whispering an oath while he hugged his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth.

“Never again…never again…never again…”

The sound of the storm moving away in the distance paced Val’s growing calm. He rose to his knees and spoke his oath aloud, as though testifying to the Gods themselves.

“I swear by Y’ffre that I shall never use Magicka again, for any reason what so ever!” he exclaimed with his arms stretched wide and his face turned upward. The sounds of wind in the roof thatch and rain drops against the window were the only response. He knew he needed to get moving, but Val remained on his knees and bowed his head for a moment longer, and then whispered, “I love you Ma.”

He rose and went over to the basin to wash the blood from his face and hands. He glanced around the room for anything else that might be his as he shed his bloody clothing and donned his gear. Satisfied that he was forgetting nothing, Valrimor turned and left. Once Bravil was well behind him, he slowed to a walk. He glanced up and caught a waning Masser peeking through a break in the clouds like a blood soaked scythe.

“Never again,” he reaffirmed to himself as he walked north alone.

*****

EDIT - Nit picked.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jul 30 2013, 05:45 PM

Wow. No wonder our good-hearted Val sought solace in booze. The irony of it is, alcohol removes inhibitions, making it more likely for one to give in to sudden impulses, such as using Magicka. Our Val will need to be careful not to get so drunk he doesn't know what he is doing when someone pisses him off.

So sad about his mother. So she couldn't face life after telling Val the truth about his father. At least she had the courage to tell him before she left.

This is a pretty powerful installment, and no, I never noticed its length. It was just perfect as it is. I've noticed that when you have dialogue, it makes the read go faster, and you can get away with a longer segment. So don't worry about the word count of this post!

Posted by: Grits Jul 30 2013, 07:46 PM

I thought this phrase captured Val’s disconnection so well, making it even more powerful when he returned to himself at the altar.

Wow, much is explained now. I didn’t notice the length of this part at all. It was a very fast and captivating read.

Posted by: Acadian Jul 31 2013, 04:27 PM

Sadly, the cleansing storm provided by Lady Kynareth that danced outside the Great Chapel of Mara that day could not stop the bloody storm of rage that erupted from Valrimor.

His deadly and magical rampage within a sanctuary of the Nine will doubtless be compared to atrocities inflicted by no less than Umaril the Unfeathered. I can imagine prophets ranting, and wanted posters for ‘Valrimor the Unhinged’.

Perhaps this is part of why Val ended up in Skyrim. A very dark piece of his past indeed.


Nit: ‘He sat there, staring at the Bretons back with a slack jaw.’ - - Bretons needs an apostrophe before the ‘s’ to make it possessive.

Posted by: SubRosa Aug 1 2013, 01:16 AM

So worse has finally come to worse, and Val has lost their house to the taxman.

I thought the description of the thunderstorm illuminating the church through the stained glass windows as wonderful. So to was Val's observation that the month should be named Thunder's Fist. It not only established the time of year through his musings alone, but was also a rather clever turn of phrase.

It looks like Val's mother made her peace with what happened by deciding to kill herself. I am not surprised by the sudden clarity she possessed beforehand. Poor Val though, if the revelation of his true father was not bad enough, to have to see his mother kill herself. Its no wonder he blamed magicians, or fled into a bottle.

Posted by: jack cloudy Aug 1 2013, 08:32 PM

Um, wow. Didn't see that one coming.


Worst part is, before the knife and the meretic rage, she seemed to have turned for the better.


And I thought Val had been motherless for longer so I went back and checked dates. Yup, this is about thirty years before his escapades in Skyrim. I guess it is a good thing Val does not get angry while drunk. (or not as easy in any case)


Seriously, how could this situation get worse? Running into not-daddy and finding out that he did join up with some bandits for looting, pillaging and raping?

Posted by: Captain Hammer Aug 2 2013, 05:20 AM

Well, this has been sudden.

Valrimor's affection for the bottle, and the birthday celebration that started it, are certainly some interesting scenes. "Cleavage Beak" in particular is hilarious.

But then we get to Bravil. Oh, Bravil. And Valrimor's true ancestry comes out. I have to be honest, I thought he overreacted a bit here, but then I remembered he didn't know a healing spell that could be used on others, so my initial thoughts really oughtn't matter that much.

Val's got certified power. It's just a shame that whenever he uses it the results aren't pretty, or desirable.

Oh, and tell Aela to bugger off. Though, given her wardrobe, I don't know if I would want her leaving before that's finis...Moving along.

Val's trials and tribulations in trying to score some more mead were enjoyable, but my favorite part was his conversation with the guards. I'm still waiting for one of them to get angry at seeing his bow and arrows, only to mention previous work experience and patella-related injuries. More!

Posted by: mALX Aug 2 2013, 09:44 PM

LOVE this line!

How weird that she killed herself in front of Val so he would have that trauma for the rest of her life! She had been such a good mother all that time, then suddenly deliberately traumatize him? Strange scene. Uh oh, Val’s lost it now. I feel sorry for the priestesses there, they couldn’t know what his mother intended to do. How strange she would do that in front of him! I see a bottle coming up in his life now. Awesome Write!

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Aug 4 2013, 06:06 PM

Well, the interludes are finished and we can get back to Val's current affairs, but first...

@ haute ecole rider - Besides a possible genetic pre-disposition due to his Nordic half, you are correct about the root of Val's alcoholism. On a separate note, I'm glad the word count wasn't too far over the top.

@ Grits - I am glad that you picked up on Val's complete disconnect with events when he is in one of his rages. He is so completely not himself when this occurs.

@ Acadian - Much appreciation for the nit spotting...picked it. The wanted posters never materialized, to Val's knowledge, perhaps because the only witness left alive was an elderly peasant woman. Anyone that actually knew Val would dismiss the idea due to his complete aversion to Magicka. Of course, those that have known him all his life might recall a shocking murder in Bruma eleven years earlier.

@ SubRosa - It's no wonder he blamed magicians, or fled into a bottle. -- Exactly! Val could not conceive that this would have occurred eventually anyway, so it had to be the fault of the arcane arts. And of course, the bottle just makes it all go away...for a bit...

@ jack cloudy - Worst part is, before the knife and the meretic rage, she seemed to have turned for the better. -- You actually touched on this in an earlier comment...

You nailed it! Healers are great at curing wounds of the body, but all they did for Ellinar was bring lucidity, not sanity...

@ Captain Hammer - Welcome back!

Val's got certified power. It's just a shame that whenever he uses it the results aren't pretty, or desirable. -- Indeed, if he could only embrace that power rather than shun it. To quote a certain intergalactic green midget, "Control! You must learn control!"

@ mALX - How weird that she killed herself in front of Val so he would have that trauma for the rest of her life! She had been such a good mother all that time, then suddenly deliberately traumatize him? Strange scene. -- Perhaps I didn't shed enough light on Ellinar's condition. She was, what we would call today, certifiable. She had not been herself (kind, caring, or otherwise) for years. And you are correct about the bottle...many, many bottles over the next 32 years.

*****
@ Everyone - Many thanks once again for all of your kind comments, compliments, and critiques!

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Aug 4 2013, 06:10 PM

Previously – Valrimor had witnessed another legend (in his eyes) come to life. A giant had been slain by members of a group known as the Companions. Then it was on to Whiterun, where he procured a room at The Bannered Mare. When we left him, he had promised Hulda that she could count on him returning to the main hall of the inn. Knowing Valrimor as we all do by now, we can rest assured that he did indeed…

24th Last Seed, 4E201

My first thought was an immediate need to get all of the skeever pelt out of my mouth. My second thought was that someone needed to quit punching my head. Then I opened my eyes and realized I had no rodent fur in my mouth, nor was an assailant bashing my brains out. This did not stop my head from pounding when I propped myself up on my elbows. I knew this feeling all too well. I also knew that there could be a whole lot of really bad news waiting for me at the inn. I looked around and tried to determine where I was. The room looked somewhat familiar, which could be a good thing. In the far corner was my pack, sitting on a chair. On top of a dresser was all of my armor. I raised the bed cover and was relieved to find I still had my underclothes on.

At least you hadn’t walked around naked like you did in Anvil…or this could have been a jail cot instead of a bed…

I sat up and swung my feet to the floor, and then waited through the instant round of nausea and headache that always accompanied these moments. Groaning, I rose and walked to the wash basin next to the dresser. The instant relief of cold water hitting my face was another all too familiar feeling. I looked up into the polished steel mirror on the wall. My eyes looked like they belonged in a Dunmer skull. My face was all puffy, with an indented print of the pillow seam running down one side. I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue, just to double check for skeever pelts. Frowning, I shook my head and regretted it instantly, squinting against the pain. I shambled over to the dresser, got dressed, and then picked up my pack from the chair. Suddenly, I looked around the room with a sense of urgency. My weapons were gone! My sword, my bow, my quiver of arrows, and even my dagger…they were all missing.

What in Oblivion had happened?

I left the room and eased my way down a set of stairs that was right outside the door. At the bottom, I realized that I was still at The Bannered Mare. Relieved somewhat that I had determined my location, I walked over to the bar as Hulda appeared from the kitchen.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our master showman. And how are we feeling this morning?” the proprietor asked with a smirk and a cocked eyebrow.

“Showman?” I inquired.

Hulda burst out laughing. She placed a cup of herbal tea on the bar as she said, “You obviously have no memory of last night. Here…sit and drink this. I am sure you need it”

“Gods bless you woman,” I said, sitting on a bar stool. I gulped down the hot tea as if my very life depended on it.

Hulda continued to chuckle, and then asked, “I don’t suppose you are ready for food yet, no?”

“No, not yet. So, tell me, how bad was I? Do I owe for any damages? Can I expect the city guards to be coming for me?”

She just laughed again, and then said, “Don’t worry about that now. I can assure you that prison is not in your future. But a career as a bard is not out of the question.” This brought more giggles from my host.

“Do you have any idea what may have happened to my weapons?” I asked with no small amount of trepidation, based on Hulda’s behavior.

“Well, you were a little disappointed that we didn’t have a dart board. So you decided that you would challenge any willing patron to a knife throwing contest. You drew your dagger and got ready to throw at that post over there,” she explained, pointing toward a thick wooden support pillar on the other side of the room, “and when you brought your arm back, I grabbed the dagger out of your hand. You spun around, but lost your balance and fell. That was when you told me that it might be a good idea if I kept your weapons for you. They are all here,” she finished, pointing to a table behind the bar. All of my weapons were there in a pile.

“Oh,” I said, “Well, if that’s the worst that happened, then that’s good.”

Hulda burst into laughter yet again, and I had the feeling that the story of the evening’s events wasn’t finished.

“When you come back this evening, I will fill you in on anything you still can’t remember. Right now, you need to shape up for your meeting with the Jarl. You are not quite presentable yet. I’ll get you more tea and some bread to soak up that ale,” Hulda said as she went back into the kitchen. While she was away, two people entered the inn. When one noticed me at the bar, she pointed me out to her friend and they both started giggling amongst themselves.

Oh Gods, Val…What have you done this time?

Hulda returned with more tea and some toasted slices of bread. I looked at her and asked, “How did you know I was going to see the Jarl?”

“You told me last night, and asked that I make sure you rose at a decent hour to do so. I was on my way to wake you when you came downstairs.”

“Oh. Thank you,” I replied, “May I have my sword? I will collect the rest of my gear when I return. I promise not to throw it.”

Hulda just chuckled again as she handed me the blade, and then she wished me luck as she headed back to the kitchen. I finished my tea and toast, and then walked past the snickering patrons with my head down on my way out the door. There was a city guard at the bottom of the stairs.

“You look a little rough,” he observed, “You should see Arcadia at the apothecary. She probably has something to whip you into shape.”

“Thanks, but I need to see the Jarl. Could you direct me please?”

“You will find him in Dragonsreach. It’s up those stairs, then up more stairs, at the top of the hill. You can’t miss it,” replied the guard, “If they won’t let you in, you could always say you are the new court jester.” With that, the guard burst into laughter and continued his rounds.

Frowning, I gazed up the direction he had pointed. A very large building sat at the summit of a stairway that climbed the rocky hill, somewhat obscured by the morning haze. I sighed through the dull ache in my head and started in the direction that he had pointed. The first set of stairs was flanked by narrow canals with water flowing into grated openings that took the water out of the city. When I reached the top of that set, I found another plaza. The water that had escorted the stairs downward was coming from another canal that encircled a very large, very dead, tree. It could have easily shaded the entire plaza had it been in full leaf. Looking to my left, I could see manors than likely belonged to the wealthier residents of Whiterun. To my right was a large building that gave the impression of an overturned ship, with the keel pointed skyward. Directly across from me was another set of stairs that led upward to the massive keep at the top of the hill. These steps were also bracketed by canals.

As I made my way around the tree, I noticed an old man ranting away at anyone that would listen. Then I noticed that no one was listening. He yelled on and on about Talos and the Thalmor. Anyone that had that much ire toward the Thalmor was okay in my book, but I didn’t have time to indulge him at the moment. Nor was I in the mood. I continued up the next set of stairs, the first of three more flights of them. One landing was flanked by pools of water that were feeding the lower canals. The rest of the way, the water cascaded down on both sides of the steps in a series of rocky falls. At the top, the walkway passed between two massive wooden columns topped with lit braziers.

http://i.imgur.com/Om8eTYf.jpg

This led to a stone walkway that made a semi-circle around the front of the keep. The curving walkway was atop a dam, holding back a large pool that was being fed by water that came through grated openings in the keep’s foundation. A wooden bridge, spanned by towering wood arches that came together in a point over the center, led to the keep’s entrance. The side rails were of an intricate wrought iron lattice topped by a wooden beam. I marveled at the fine craftsmanship of both the woodworkers and the ironsmiths that had built this structure.

Before crossing the bridge, I turned around for a moment to take in the view. I was a little winded from the climb and didn’t want to be panting when I was introduced to the Jarl. Most of the city was visible from here. The majority of the morning haze had burned off and I could see the stone arches of Bleak Falls Barrow far to the south. On another, even taller mountain, I could make out the silhouette of a structure at the summit. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to build something way up there, but I had seen stranger things in my travels.

My travels…

That thought brought on a frown and a heavy sigh. My journey into Skyrim had not been what I expected so far.

Dragons…walking dead…the dreams, so vivid and terrifying...my temper, going out of control...blasts of raw and untamed Magicka. Val, what is going on with you?

My mind continued to drift, taking me back to the tavern in Bruma just a few short weeks ago. After so many years, I had still been running from my mother’s ghost and the atrocities I had committed in Bravil, drowning them both with alcohol when they had caught up with me. I had traveled around the whole of Cyrodiil, never making a plan set in stone. Moving from one city to the next, looking for the next easy coin and tankard. That night, as I sat in Olav’s, I had vividly recalled what my mother had said all those years ago. She had said that my Da wasn’t really my father. Up until then, I had known my father to be Erik Grey-Mane. But she had told me a story of a man that took her against her will, and that this man, not Erik, was really my father. Jensen, or Jonsin, or Jonas…something like that…was my real father’s name. She had also mentioned Riften. I had dutifully drowned out the rest of that fateful day’s events with ale. And so, in a drunken depression, I had decided to come to Skyrim to search for answers.

And now, you are about to meet with a Jarl regarding a legend that has come to life right before your very eyes…The same legend that has plagued your dreams for all these years… Just get it over with…then you can go to Riften…

With renewed determination, I turned toward the doors and prepared to enter the keep of Dragonsreach.

Posted by: SubRosa Aug 4 2013, 08:15 PM

I think Skyguy just typed in his last two episodes of AQOF in invisible pixels!

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Aug 4 2013, 08:21 PM

Not sure what happened there, but the thanks are now in my first post and the installment is in the second post...weird!

Posted by: haute ecole rider Aug 4 2013, 09:28 PM

I, too had noticed the invisible pixels, too!

Glad you came back and fixed it!

So we catch up to Val in the present and see that he has a memory lapse. Apparently everyone else around him hasn't, and therein lies the potential for significant embarrassment! I can't wait to find out what happened last night!

Posted by: mALX Aug 5 2013, 08:38 AM

This has to be one of my all time favorite chapters, he has found his niche at the Bannered Mare, they don't mind a good drunk going on, lol. This had me in whoops when the patrons and even the guard was giggling behind their hands at him, LOVED this chapter !!!

Posted by: Acadian Aug 5 2013, 04:45 PM

After two episodes devoted to Val’s enlightening interlude, it was a very nice touch that your ‘Previously –‘ summary brought us right back to where we left Val in his present time and ready to pick up the action.

It was fun to wake up with a befuzzled Val and let him try to sort out where we were. Some wonderfully chosen skeever pelt/Dunmer-eyed little touches reinforced that he is no stranger to the hangover.

Whew, he quickly solves the case of the missing weapons.

“You should see Arcadia at the apothecary. She probably has something to whip you into shape.” - - Ahah! I always suspected I might have long lost relatives in Skyrim! With whips no less!

’After so many years, I had still been running from my mother’s ghost and the atrocities I had committed in Bravil, drowning them both with alcohol when they had caught up with me.’ - - Aww, this really brings what we have learned so far about Val and his history into focus. The pain of his past and the ominous feeling that something is . . . growing or happening within him that he does not fully control.

Nit? - - ’Hulda just chuckled again as she handed me the blade, and then she wished me luck as she headed back to the kitchen. I finished my tea and toast, and then walked past the snickering patrons with my head down on my way out the door. There was a city guard at the bottom of the stairs.’ - - Perhaps it is just me, but whenever I see ‘and then’, I recommend the writer ask themselves which conjunction they want and delete one or the other depending on intent. Part of my grammar training is simply a (rather long) lifetime of reading, so I cannot objectively tell you if the use of ‘and then’ is technically incorrect. My aversion may well be simply subjective and a matter of style, so just slap and ignore me if you do not find the opinion of value.

Posted by: SubRosa Aug 5 2013, 08:25 PM

Another morning after. I wonder if Val has worn out his welcome the way he did at Hod and Gerdur's?

I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue, just to double check for skeever pelts.


Oh my, Val is the master showman? That cannot be good. Was he juggling his sword and bow?

You know, I have always wondered about that upside down ship that is Jorvasskr's roof. Did they drag a ship all the way from the ocean and tip it over? Or did they just build the roof to look like a ship? Speaking of wondering, have you ever wondered where all that water that runs down through Whiterun comes from? Near as I can tell it is from Dragonsreach's toilets...

So its off to Riften for answers then? That is good. It is a sign that Val has finally decided to start facing his past, for better or worse.

Posted by: Captain Hammer Aug 5 2013, 09:02 PM

This was good. Glad to see that there's a version of Drunk-Val that has a promising career ahead of him in the Bardic traditions. It's a shame that his Performance Skills are situation-based, but I'll take it.

Hulda's "Just wait till you here about what you did last night" dialogue was truly inspired. Especially that part where the game of "Throw the Dagger" was interrupted by another game of "Confiscate the Dagger for the Patrons' Safety." I imagine the loss of a kidney or spleen from one of the other customers wouldn't be the best for business.

I suppose that Val will soon have to Unlearn what bad habits he has learned. Shame. But for the best, it is.

Posted by: jack cloudy Aug 7 2013, 07:31 PM

Well it could have gone worse. No alcohol poisoning, no new enemies. I'd call that a win for Val. Of course, not every detail is known yet and what isn't has a high chance of being supremely emberassing.


And adoptive daddy is a Grey-Mane? Hmm, I wonder if that may have something to do with his disappearance.


And a hip hip hooray for guards and their random dialog. Seriously, guardsmen are the most fun guys to talk to in the whole game which given their commonness and lack of names or faces is quite the achievement.

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Aug 8 2013, 12:12 AM

Many things have happened so far but I was deeply disturbed by what happened to Val's mother. Not only because she took her own life, but in the manner and in the place. Right in front of Val. That was brutal and we now know why he has some deep-rooted scars there along with his anger issues. I am interested to see where this will take him in his new life of adventure.

Posted by: Grits Aug 8 2013, 01:22 PM

Fun to see the events from the night before come to light as Val went through his morning after. It sounds like his shenanigans made him quite popular at the Bannered Mare!

I’m interested to see if the Jarl will get him side-tracked, or if Val will soon be on the road to Riften.

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jan 9 2014, 04:38 AM

Well gang...after a 5 month hiatus...I am back for now. Real life, including a rough bout with pneumonia, had me on my heels for a while. Now I have tons of reading to do as well as get this ball rolling again. I apologize for the dry spell, and I can't promise how long I'll be around this time, but I will hang as long as possible. I truly hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season.

So...first I want to thank haute ecole rider, mALX, Acadian, Subrosa, Captain Hammer, jack cloudy, Darkness Eternal, and Grits, for their comments after my last post back in August. With luck, Val and I will bring you back to his adventures.

What Has Gone Before – Valrimor had been captured by Imperial soldiers and was about to be executed when a dragon attacked Helgen. He escaped with the aid of Ralof and they made their way to Riverwood to lay low at the home of Ralof’s sister, Gerdur. She asked Valrimor to go see the Jarl in Whiterun to request aid for Riverwood against the possibility of a dragon attack there. With a few issues sidetracking him, including a trip into Bleak Falls Barrow to retrieve a stolen artifact, Val has indeed reached Whiterun. After a drunken night in The Bannered Mare, he is about to meet with the Jarl on the following morning…

24th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

I stood and stared in awe at the grand timberwork when I entered the keep. The workmanship on the bridge was merely an appetizer for the feast my eyes beheld. The architectural style was very familiar, but the scale of this work dwarfed anything I had seen in Bruma. The main support pillars must have been the entire trunks of once towering spruce trees. These massive wood columns soared more than fifty feet and supported steep, heavy rafters that vaulted upward for another twenty. Intricate patterns were etched into the column bases. All of the woodwork had been finely crafted and fitted. One could almost imagine that the entire chamber may have been hewn from a single giant block of wood. Shafts of sunlight made their way downward from windows near the top and illuminated a flight of steps that led up into the main hall.

http://i.imgur.com/pGz5apR.jpg

I walked up the stairs to discover that the Jarl’s throne room must also serve as the keep’s main dining hall. A large fire pit in the center provided light and warmth, and was flanked on either side by long dining tables that appeared to be set for an upcoming meal. Banners adorned the columns in this area, emblazoned with a gold horse head on a field of white, the emblem of Whiterun. My wonder at all of this was cut short by the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn. When I detected the source, I saw a Dunmer woman approaching me, clad in leather armor and her blade at the ready. She had hair the color of her eyes, and those eyes did not look happy to see me.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?” she barked more than asked, “Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors.”

“Gerdur sent me. Riverwood is in danger,” I replied, never taking my eyes off of her sword. Unconsciously, my hand had found the hilt of my own blade. I caught myself and merely rested my palm on the pommel, so as not to agitate this woman further.

“As housecarl, my job is to deal with all dangers to the Jarl or his people. So, you have my attention. Now, explain yourself,” the Dunmer demanded, her demeanor unchanged.

“Gerdur asked me to speak to the Jarl directly. I owe her this favor and I intend to keep it as she requested. So, if you would please see your way fit to -”

“Whatever you have to say to the Jarl,” she interjected, “you can say to me! I am beginning to think -”

From the direction of the throne, a commanding voice cut the Dunmer off.

“Irileth, send him forward. I would hear what he has to say,” the voice insisted.

Irileth muttered something I couldn’t make out, and then sheathed her sword and instructed me to follow her. We walked past the fire pit and up a few steps onto a large dais where Jarl Balgruuf sat upon his throne. He wore a jeweled crown of gold, but other than that, his attire didn’t strike me as particularly regal. A simple tunic over leather breeches and fur lined leather boots. He also wore a fur stole connected in the front by a gold chain. A balding man stood to his right with his hands balled into fists that rested on his hips. The hilt of a greatsword stood out behind his shoulder, but he didn’t look strong enough to heft the thing. He was certainly not a Nord, and had the look of an Imperial snob dressed in the fine attire of the wealthy. Above the Jarl’s throne was a giant skull, the shape of which I had seen recently in Helgen.

“So, what’s this I hear about trouble in Riverwood?” The Jarl asked.

“Your Excellency, my name is Valrimor,” I said, not knowing how to address the man and still trying to sound official, “Gerdur of Riverwood asks for your aid. She is concerned that the settlement will be the dragon’s next target and they are defenseless.”

“Gerdur…She owns the lumber mill, if I recall correctly. A pillar of the community, she is not prone to flights of fancy,” the Jarl mused, and then asked, “Are you certain that Helgen was destroyed by a dragon? Or could it have been a Stormcloak raid gone wrong?”

“Is the skull hanging above your head that of a Stormcloak? Because the beast that attacked Helgen had one just like it. Only the bone still had flesh and was quite alive. Scales, fangs, wings, fire…yeah, I’m pretty sure it was a dragon,” I replied, probably with a touch too much sarcasm. Inwardly, however, I was rebuking the memory of those eyes staring into my soul while my head was still prone on the block.

“Watch your tongue, tree-hugger!” snapped Irileth, “Remember who you are speaking to. You would do well to show respect!”

I cringed and gritted my teeth at the term tree-hugger, balling my fists against the sudden warmth in my arms.

“Relax, Irileth, this mer has been through a tough time of it, if he has indeed escaped a dragon. I, for one, believe him,” Balgruuf stated, and then he turned to the bald man, “What do you say now Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Would they stand against a dragon?”

Irileth interjected before Proventus could speak, “My Lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. If that dragon is indeed lurking in the mountains, the settlement will be in the most immediate danger.”

“The Jarl of Falkreath would view that as a provocation!” objected Proventus, “He will assume we are preparing to join Ulfric’s side and attack him.”

“Enough!” Balgruuf yelled, “I’ll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!”
I had to suppress a grin as the Jarl barked at Proventus, and then he turned back to the Dunmer, “I agree with you, Irileth. Send a detachment at once.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she replied, and after a slight bow, she left to do as Balgruuf commanded. Proventus scowled at her back as she walked away. He obviously didn’t like having his advice trumped by hers.

“If you will excuse me, sire, I’ll return to my duties,” said Proventus, and he stormed off in the opposite direction. The Jarl didn’t bother answering. He was looking at me, as if he were judging me or sizing up my character.

“Well done,” he said, “You sought me out on your own initiative.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true. I did it at the request of my friend’s sister. I owed it to her. Had that not been the case, I may never have come to Whiterun at all,” I said honestly.

The Jarl raised an eyebrow, and then regained his appraising look and said, “Regardless, you have done Whiterun a service, and I won’t forget it. There is something else you could do for me, suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps.”

“For someone of my talents? With all due respect, what do you know of my talents?” I inquired.

“I know you are talented enough to escape a dragon attack. I know that the only way to get out of Helgen alive would have been to go under the town and not through it. But I also sense you are not here just to repay debts owed to the siblings of friends, nor by mere happenstance for that matter. I feel that fate itself has brought you here, to me, in a time of need. Come, Valrimor, let’s go speak to Farengar, my court wizard. He’s been looking into a matter related to these dragons…and rumors of dragons,” Balgruuf said, and then he rose and bade me to follow him.

Why do I feel the sudden urge to run out of here as fast as I can?

I shook the thought away and followed the Jarl. It would do me no good at all to just run away from a man as important as Balgruuf, especially since my neck was at the mercy of a headsman only days earlier. We entered a room off to the side of the main throne hall. The aroma of alchemical workings hung in the air. There was a large map hanging on a rack near one wall. An alchemy table and another odd looking table were against the back wall. A broad topped desk or workbench dominated the center of the room. A robed man stood on the other side of it, his face shadowed into obscurity by the robe’s cowl. He was muttering to himself when the Jarl started speaking.

“Farengar, fate has brought us someone to help with your dragon project,” Balgruuf said to the robed figure.
The man looked up at the Jarl. He appeared much younger than I had assumed a wizard would be. I had pictured an old man with a long grey beard. This man was likely younger than I was. He turned to look at me and then began speaking to me as if the Jarl wasn’t here in the same room.

“So, the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me, and my research into the dragons?” Farengar mused, looking me over and rubbing his chin, “Hmmm…yessss…I could use someone to fetch something for me.”

“Fetch something?” I queried.

“Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there,” replied the wizard in a way that implied this was a known fact.

“What does this have to do with dragons?”

“Ahhh,” Farengar replied, his eyes going wide, “no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker…perhaps even a scholar?” he mused, and then continued, “You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors, even impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons…where had they gone all those years ago? Where were they coming from now?”

At this point, I wasn’t sure if the mage was talking to himself or to me. I tried to steer him back to matters at hand by asking, “So what is it that you need me to do?”

“I…uh…learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow…called a Dragonstone. It is said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. I need you to go to this barrow and find the tablet. It is no doubt interred in the main chamber. If you do find it, bring it back to me here. Simplicity itself,” said Farengar, ending his request with a dismissive tone.

Simplicity itself?

“I have been to Bleak Falls Barrow. To say this is a simple matter is understating the facts a bit. How do you know this tablet is there?”

“You needn’t concern yourself with that. I can assure you that my…uh…sources…are accurate,” replied the wizard. I had almost forgotten that the Jarl was still here in the room with us until he spoke to me.

“If you succeed in this, you will be well rewarded, Valrimor. Whiterun is already in your debt, and this would increase that debt. So when I say well rewarded, I do mean very well rewarded. The fate of Whiterun may rest on your decision,” Balgruuf said with frank concern.

Fate...
“Fate brought you to me…”
“The fate of Whiterun…”
It’s always a question of fate, and once again, fate was going to give me a shove toward somewhere I didn’t want to go.

“I’ll do it,” I said, “but…there is an item I am going to need. The owner of this item will not wish to part with it, so I will have to leave him a substantial deposit.”

I went on to explain about the Golden Claw. Farengar provided me with enough gold to satisfy Lucan Valerius. I hoped it would be more than enough. I promised them both I would leave for the barrow in the morning. I must admit that my main reason for doing this was the promise of a very large reward from the Jarl. But as I walked out of the keep and looked down on Whiterun, I realized that fate could have chosen a worse place for me to aid.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jan 9 2014, 07:37 AM

A big, hearty, ale-filled welcome back to TSG and Val! You have been missed over the last several months!

I hear you about RL - it tends to do that.

I had to laugh at Val's answer to the Jarl's musing about Gerdur's message. Dragons? Really, really dragons? Or maybe Stormcloaks? Please? Pretty pretty please?

Uhh, yeah, Stormcloaks if they had heads like that one. *points to skull above throne*

Because of another Skyrim fanfic, I would advise Val to run while he can. Ruh oh, too late now! Farengar's got him!

Well, what will Val do next? And will we ever find out what he did last night in the inn?

Posted by: Acadian Jan 9 2014, 05:34 PM

Let me join Rider in welcoming you back, Skyguy! It is good indeed to see you continuing this. After the long break, your little ‘What has gone before’ summary was superb and just what we need to snap back into Val’s story.

You painted a richly detailed picture of the Jarl’s joint. I could hear the fire crackling and envision the intricately carved timbers throughout.

’I saw a Dunmer woman approaching me, clad in leather armor and her blade at the ready. She had hair the color of her eyes, and those eyes did not look happy to see me.’ - - Uh oh. . . an angry redhead.

“Is the skull hanging above your head that of a Stormcloak?” - -

‘It’s always a question of fate, and once again, fate was going to give me a shove toward somewhere I didn’t want to go.’ - - Isn’t that just the kick-in-the-pants truth?

Great fun catching up with Valrimor again!

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Jan 9 2014, 11:42 PM

I was beginning to wonder if you left us completely. Glad to see you're back with us!

Val arrives to the Jarl's longhouse to a very unwelcome welcome from Irileth. Goodness, she's one with little patience. I like how when Val describes the dragon to the jarl, his voice is thick with sarcasm but deep inside he's still haunted by Alduin. Who wouldn't be?

Farengar. I do wonder if Val will even have the patience to deal with this one. He fancies intelligence over brawn any day and Val certainly has some wits to him . . . lets just hope he doesn't drink around Farengar.

At the end we're once again told of fate, and the question of it. This will certainly put Valrimor in the path he may not want to go. But ultimately it is those paths that are worth the walk, no? And sometimes yield the greatest rewards or certain death.

I am definetly looking forward for more here. Once again I'm happy to see you back.

Posted by: Grits Jan 10 2014, 05:31 PM

It’s great to see you back, SkyrimGuy!

“Is the skull hanging above your head that of a Stormcloak?



Yikes, Lucan has the Golden Claw. Maybe he’ll rent it out for a golden purse. Hopefully he will cooperate, I’d hate to see the Riverwood Trader on fire!

Posted by: ghastley Jan 10 2014, 09:55 PM

The positive thing about the long hiatus is that I've installed Skyrim in the interim, and can finally understand what this story is all about, and can start commenting without looking too ignorant.

I've run a few characters and so far, none of them have gone to Bleak Falls Barrow without doing it all. Fleur the Orc has done the whole MQ (and Dragonborn, Dawnguard, CoW), and some of the others have refused to start either Lucan's or Farengar's quests. Most of them just did the whole dungeon, because the part of them that's me just finishes whatever they start (at the quest level, at least). So it's interesting to see how it unfolds when you retrieve the claw first, and then go back for the stone.

Now I've played a few characters, I understand that the CoW is almost unavoidable. Too many other quest lines require you to go there, and often need you to progress in its own quest-line. It will be fun to see how you incorporate that into the story.

Just for reference, what DLC's are active in Val's game?

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 11 2014, 01:05 AM

Welcome Back. I am glad to see you were victorious in your battle against Real Life.

Ahh Irileth. One of the more annoying characters in the game, chasing your all over Dragonsreach until you do the main quest long enough to slay Jarl Ballin's Dragon. She is one of the reasons I worked out a way to completely turn off the main quest.

My Lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once.
This always makes me scratch my head. A dragon just destroyed Helgen - an Imperial fortress brimming with soldiers - without taking a scratch itself. So let's send three guards to Riverwood. What are they supposed to do, serenade the beast as it eats them too?

Why do I feel the sudden urge to run out of here as fast as I can?
I would say because he has good instincts!

Fate...
“Fate brought you to me…”
“The fate of Whiterun…”
It’s always a question of fate, and once again, fate was going to give me a shove toward somewhere I didn’t want to go.
I kept thinking of this too as I was reading. The Fickle Finger of Fate seems intent upon F'ing Val over.

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jan 11 2014, 07:40 AM

First of all, I want to thank all of you for the warm welcome back. It is a good feeling to receive that.

@ haute ecole rider - Glad you got a giggle from Val's sarcasm.

Well, what will Val do next? And will we ever find out what he did last night in the inn?
Stay tuned...because the answer is yes.

@ Acadian - Angry red heads should be avoided at all costs!

Fate taking us where we did not intend certainly is the kick-in-the-pants truth.

@ Darkness Eternal - Farengar is indeed a bit of an eccentric, to be as young as he seems to be. I've never played too much deeper into the game than where we are now, so I am looking forward to how he might develop in the story.

@ Grits - Glad you got a kick out of the dragon skull comment as well.

Yikes, Lucan has the Golden Claw. Maybe he’ll rent it out for a golden purse...
That's the plan...

@ ghastley - Glad you have joined the ranks of Skyrim players. Regarding DLC, I have not installed any at all yet. I am only playing modded vanilla. Lots of mods, but no DLC at all.

@ SubRosa - Couldn't agree with you more about the contingent of guards sent to Riverwood. As for my battle with Real Life, I won't call myself victorious...let's just say there is a truce in effect...

BTW - Great Laugh-In reference with the Fickle Finger of Fate

*********

Thanks again to all of you for your kind comments and the hearty WB. On with the show...

Previously – Val had fulfilled his promise to Gerdur, to get word to the Jarl about the dragon. In doing so, he had agreed to complete an errand for Farengar, the Jarl’s court wizard. He was fated to return to Bleak Falls Barrow…

24th Last Seed, 4E201- Continued

As I walked back down the stairway from Dragonsreach, I realized that my muzziness had faded away when my stomach growled for some nourishment. A good lunch was going to hit the spot. The day was a fine exhibit of summer showing off the fact that it could still cast warm weather this far north. The sky was brilliant blue and clear, with just a few puffy clouds floating on a gentle breeze. It was the kind of weather that inspired sojourns into the forest, for no good reason at all, just to walk among the trees. I decided that I might just have such a walk, to relax and not think of my upcoming errand into that Oblivion pit of a barrow. But first, I needed to eat.

Back down in the lower level of the city, I headed into the inn for some lunch. I was thankful that the main hall was bereft of other customers that might point and laugh. Hulda was stocking her cabinets with clean flagons in preparation for the evening. I sat at the bar and asked her what she recommended for lunch.

“Today’s lunch is a grilled salmon sandwich, with lettuce, tomato, and my own special sauce,” she replied. I ordered one and some ale. She cocked an eyebrow at the mention of ale, then grinned and went to prepare my meal. When she returned, I pressed her to fill me in on the events of the previous night.

“Well, after you landed on your backside when I confiscated your dagger, Saadia said that she hoped you danced better than you walked. You grabbed her and started trying to dance all the way around the hall with her.”

I have no memory of this…another apology may be in my future…

“When I told her to stop and tend to the customers, you twirled her away and she almost fell into the fire pit. Then you jumped up on the bar and started dancing alone, asking me to join you.”

Uh-oh…

“When I refused, you said that you were going to start removing your clothes a piece at a time until I did. And you stayed true to your word, alternating between removing an article and chugging a full tankard of ale. When you were down to just your underclothes, you sucked down another mug, leapt into the air, and did a perfect back flip off of the bar.”

In just my underclothes…ugh…

“All of the patrons cheered and asked for more while they applauded. You tried to do a deep bow with a flourish. I say ‘tried’ because instead of rising from your bow, you passed out and crumbled to the floor. Saadia and I picked you up and carried you to your room,” she finished.

I could feel heat in my cheeks and was hesitant to look up from my food. But I needed to face the music.

“I am so sorry Hulda. I shouldn’t ha-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hulda interjected, “Crazier things than that have gone on in here. Nothing broken and nothing hurt. All I ask is that you don’t make it a habit of stripping down in the bar.”

“I’ll try not to. And thanks again for looking after me and my gear,” I replied. I paid for my meal, leaving her some extra as gratuity for her troubles. She brought me my weapons and I thanked her again as I left.

It was now mid afternoon and I decided to spend what was left of it looking around town rather than having a trip into the nearby wilderness. I had to endure further whispers and chuckles as I walked. I would just lower my head a little and continue on my way. The lower level of the city, which I learned later was called The Plains District, was populated with various shops and markets. Surrounding the main plaza were the small merchant’s kiosks, the apothecary that the guard had told me about, and a general store called Belethor’s General Goods. There were a few homes along the street as I walked toward the main gate. Lastly, two more businesses were just inside the gate. A blacksmith and weapons shop called Warmaiden’s, and another building with a sign that caught my attention immediately. The placard had a picture of a mug of ale over grain and hops and proclaimed the destination to be The Drunken Huntsman. This place I just had to visit! I entered the tavern and could not help but smile when the barkeep spoke.

“Welcome kinsman! How it warms my heart to meet a brother Bosmer! My name is Elrindir, and this is The Drunken Huntsman.”

“The feeling is mutual. My name is Valrimor,” I replied with a grin, “You are the first Bosmer I have met since arriving in Skyrim. What do you have to drink, friend?”

“Well, I have my own brew, Errant Aim Stout. I also carry the local stuff, that being Honningbrew Mead and Mare’s Malt Ale. What’s your pleasure?” Elrindir asked.

“I’ll try the stout.”

“An excellent choice, kinsman. Coming right up,” he said as I pulled a stool up to the bar. As Elrindir poured my tankard of ale, I inquired about the tavern’s name.

“Sort of a funny story, that is,” he said as he placed the mug in front of me, brimming with caramel colored froth. I took a sip as he explained, “My brother Anoriath and I came up with the name one night after consuming…rather too much mead. When we finished our drinks, we went out for a moonlight hunt. We got separated, and in his drunken state, my brother mistook me for a deer. He shot an arrow that pierced my…well…let’s just say sitting on a chamber pot would have been impossible. After such a memorable adventure, we knew we had the name for our shop.”

“Now that sounds like something that would happen to me!” I said, laughing.

“That, I can believe, kinsman. My brother was at The Bannered Mare last night. He told me a story about a visiting Bosmer that put on quite the show!” said the barkeep, and we both laughed, although I’ll admit that my laughter may have sounded forced as it fought through another round of embarrassment. I finished my stout and ordered another. It was an excellent brew, with a somewhat nutty aftertaste.

“So, you had called this your ‘shop’. Do you sell other items besides food and spirits?” I asked.

“Indeed. We also sell weaponry and some armor. Mostly geared toward the discerning archer,” replied Elrindir, gesturing toward a rack on the wall. I had assumed that the items were his and not for sale. Quality steel bodkin points caught my eye. I told him I would definitely be interested in those, as I was only armed with low quality Imperial iron heads.

“They go for six Septims a piece, but for a fellow Bosmer, I’ll knock them down to three each plus even trade for your iron tips,” Elrindir offered.

“That’s a deal!” I replied.

I swapped my two dozen shoddy Imperial arrows and seventy-two Septims for a very nice quiver’s worth of the steel tips. The shafts and fletching were an archer’s dream compared to the twigs and feathers I had been carrying. I finished my stout and had one more, making small talk with my host. I told Elrindir that I would definitely be back and expressed my pleasure in meeting him. He reciprocated the sentiment and warned me to be wary of his brother when trekking in the woodlands. I was laughing at the idea of getting an arrow to my butt when I left the tavern and made my way back to The Bannered Mare. A hearty meal and an early retirement before heading out to Bleak Falls in the morning was the plan.



25th Last Seed, 4E201

Just yesterday, I was reveling in a beautiful late summer day. Today, Z’en was up to his antics because he knew I meant to travel. The morning was chilly and grey. A gusty north wind was making sure it stayed that way. I could almost smell the threat of snow in the air. Back down in Cyrodiil, I had heard that if you didn’t like the weather in Skyrim, wait a few hours. Now I know why. I was glad I had remembered to procure gloves and a scarf at Lucan’s shop. If it was this cold here, I could imagine what things were like up on the mountain.

But the barrow was not my first destination. I had to stop in Riverwood and try to obtain the Golden Claw from Lucan Valerius. On my way out of town, I noticed a carriage at the stable. The driver was perched in his seat as if he was waiting for someone. He looked my way as I approached.

“Are you for hire?” I asked.

“Always,” the driver responded.

“Great! I need to get to Riverwood. How much?”

“I can’t help you sir. I only stop in cities that have stables to rest and feed the horses,” replied the driver.

Well that kills that idea…

Disappointed, I started what I knew to be a chilly and steadily uphill walk. As I stepped back out onto the road, a contingent of Whiterun Guards marched past the stable and toward the main road. I fell in behind them, intending to follow them as long as my route allowed. Z’en had decided to reciprocate for the weather by tossing a piece of good fortune my way. The guards turned out to be the patrol that Irileth had dispatched to Riverwood. I stayed to the rear, not wanting to engage in conversation. I needed the time to think.

Well, wood-skull, you wanted to be free of commitment, so you went and volunteered for more duty instead. You’re never going to get to Riften at this pace…But do you really need to go to Riften? What do you hope to find there?

I frowned at this thought. What indeed?

Answers…but you have precious little to go on. You don’t even know his last name, and are not exactly sure of his first. You may want to consider your immediate problems. This troublesome habit of losing your temper and blasting whatever is in front of you might be a tad bit more important.

My brow furrowed deeper with this line of reasoning. The memory of my murderous use of Magicka came flooding back. I winced at the vision of a burnt Altmer and sobbing in my mother’s arms. But how does one change his temperment? Then another memory crept in. The Altmer’s companion…no…his teacher…had offered me help.

“Come to the College at Winterhold, no matter how far in the future, and ask to see Master Tolfdir,” the mage had said. Perhaps this would be a better course of action, but I loathed the idea of dealing with a mage. All Magicka had ever done for me was ill and unwanted.

You know that is not true. It came in handy up at the barrow, whether you could have succeeded without it or not…And it helped save your bark against the wolves on the way to Whiterun…But if you don’t get a handle on it, then it might be your undoing…Could the mage still be there after all these years? And even if he is, could he really teach me to control these outbursts when I get angry?

I tossed these thoughts back and forth, and this had made the time pass quickly. Before I knew it, the settlement of Riverwood was in sight.

Posted by: Acadian Jan 12 2014, 05:45 PM

You routinely do a great job of richly setting the opening scene – and this episode was no exception, as Val shared with us the beautiful sunny day.

So, we learn more of his booze-infused antics from the night before over a delish grilled salmon sandwich (and ale of course).

Nice to see another tree sap brother and properly restock his quiver before setting out for Riverhold.

And along the way, Val wrestles with thoughts of his temper and the bad magical mojo it seems to conjure.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jan 12 2014, 09:02 PM

WHOO HOO Val! You can http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6T9Bz4bBlg

Oh great. Now I can't stop playing this.

Anyways, what a relief to finally know what it was Val did last night! And relax, it could have been much worse! You could have gone the full monty! Really embarrassing if you don't have the junk for it. *ducks and runs*

Then on to the local brewmaster. Good thing he's another tree-hugger, too! It's good to have someone to talk to that is about the same height as you!

And Val's musing about his dark side. I'm glad he wants to find out more about it, and how to control it. Better than hiding his head in the sand (snow?).

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 12 2014, 09:35 PM

Lunch sounds good. I'll have some of that grilled salmon as well...

I see Val's issue with the bottle reared its ugly head once more. At least he was only dancing, clothing optional, and not doing anything to warrant burning stares the next morning, ala Hod.

And what do you know, he found the Drunken Huntsmen! Oi! I loved the story of how it got its name.

I loved the comparison of the Imperial arrows to twigs and feathers.

I had heard that if you didn’t like the weather in Skyrim, wait a few hours
Sounds like Michigan! Last week it was below zero. Not it's almost 40!

I loved the term Wood-skull. I'll have to remember that one for the next time Teresa vexes Pappy.

It is good to see that Val is putting some serious thought into his anger management/magic management problems. Now that he has finally gotten to the point of admitting that he has a problem, and that he needs help, he is that much closer to taking the next step, and doing something about it.

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jan 16 2014, 01:46 PM

@ Acadian - Thanks for the kind words. That sandwich was almost as good as the weather was that morning.

@ haute ecole rider - I love that song too, though I am partial to the https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kDR2fXoHdQw, just because I am a fan. I'll leave Val's junk to the imagination.

@ SubRosa - Hmmm...a 12 step program to deal with Magicka. Well, he has just about completed the 2nd step and is close to starting on the 3rd, "I came to a decision to turn my will over to the care of Tolfdir."

@ All of You - Val and I thank you so much for the kind words and following along. Grab your favorite beverage and we hope you enjoy the next installment...

Previously – Val had spent a nice late summer day in the city of Whiterun, and a pleasant evening in the company of a fellow Bosmer at the Drunken Huntsman tavern, before leaving on a chilly grey morning for Bleak Falls Barrow…

25th Last Seed, 4E201 – Continued

It was after midday when we entered Riverwood. I saw Ralof and Hod walking toward the bridge leading to the mill. When they heard the sounds of the armored troops, they both turned to look for the source. Ralof smiled when he saw me among the guards.

“You see, Hod?” Ralof said, “I told you he was trustworthy. He came back with guards from Whiterun, just like he said he would.”

Hod didn’t look enthused to see me, but still managed to say, “Welcome back, Valrimor.”

“Thanks, Hod. Don’t worry, I’ll be staying at the inn,” I replied. He just looked away indifferently and continued toward the mill.

“My sister will be grateful, Val,” Ralof said, gesturing toward the guards. One of them was approaching us.

“Andros Falken, Corporal of the Whiterun Guards,” he announced in a deep, official sounding voice, “We are here at the behest of Jarl Balgruuf to aid in defense of the settlement. Who is in charge?”

“The closest we have to someone in charge would be my sister, Gerdur. You will find her at the mill,” replied Ralof, hiking a thumb toward the mill behind him.

“Thank you citizen,” said Andros, and then barked commands to his detachment, ordering them to man the bulwarks while he went to speak with Gerdur. The rest of the guards dispersed as directed. Ralof looked at me with a grin.

“He seems a bit uptight, eh? Anyway, thanks for bringing them, Val.”

“I always try to keep my word, Ralof. I have my faults, but not repaying a debt isn’t one of them,” I replied. It was a true statement, for the most part.

“So what brought you back with the guards?” he asked.

“I am on an errand for the Jarl’s court wizard, if you can believe that. Which reminds me, what can you tell me about Bleak Falls Barrow?”

Ralof’s eyes went a bit wider for a moment, and then he asked, “Why would you want to know that?”

“Why don’t we go grab a tankard of ale and I’ll fill you in on the whole story,” I suggested.

My intention was to pay for our ale at the inn, but Ralof led us to Gerdur’s house. I took a seat at Hod’s bar while Ralof filled two steins with ale. When he was also seated, I related the entire story of retrieving the claw for Lucan and my meeting with the Jarl and his court wizard. When I finished, he looked at me for a moment with a sense of appraisement. After that, he spoke.

“Perhaps it is better that you decided not go to Windhelm so soon. Fate seems to have you pointed elsewhere and apparently for the good of Whiterun…perhaps even Skyrim itself. As for the barrow, it is haunted by the ancient dead, the Draugr. They are the reanimated dead followers of the Dragon Priests. I myself am not sure what motivates them to life as a corpse, but you can rest assured that they are highly motivated to kill any trespassers on sight.”

“I encountered a few of them during my first visit,” I interjected, “They didn’t seem too tough, as long as I could keep my distance.”

“There are others that are tougher, you can count on that. You need to be at your best wit to survive this, Val. I strongly suggest you keep all of them about you,” the Nord said with intense sincerity. I knew this to be a thinly veiled reference to any possible ale, mead, or wine intake.

“Thanks, friend, and I shall indeed. Right now, I need to go see Lucan. We’ll talk again soon, I am sure,” I said, clapping Ralof on the back as I stood.

“Before you go, Valrimor, can I ask you something?” Ralof inquired.

“Sure, anything,” I replied.

“Did the Jarl, by chance, mention anything about the Stormcloak rebellion?”

I took a moment to recall our meeting, and then answered, “Not the Jarl himself, but his Steward, Proventus, seemed concerned about provoking Falkreath by sending troops to Riverwood. He was worried that their Jarl would take it as a sign of Whiterun siding with Ulfric.”

“Proventus,” Ralof said, sneering on the name, “That snake will have Whiterun in the Imperial camp before this is over. I just know it.”

“Well, if it is any consolation, I can tell you that the Jarl sided with his housecarl over his steward, much to the chagrin of Proventus. The guard’s arrival here is proof of that,” I provided.

“Still, I have an uneasy feeling about the leanings of Jarl Balgruuf. Thanks for the information, Val,” said Ralof.

“No problem. Take care, Ralof.” I replied, and left for The Riverwood Trader.

I entered the shop to find Lucan occupying his customary position behind the counter. He looked up and placed what I’m sure he thought was a genuine looking smile upon his face.

“Well, hello there! I didn’t expect to see you back so soon. Figured you were off to greener pastures. But since you are here, I hope you are planning on a purchase of some kind,” said Lucan, expertly managing to squeeze a plug for his shop into the salutation.

“Well, it’s interesting that you would say that, because I am actually looking to rent something from you,” I said, and leapt into the pitch immediately, “I want to rent that gold claw from you.”

Lucan’s face dropped the smile and grabbed a concerned scowl in the blink of an eye. He seemed to ponder the statement for a moment, and then simply asked, “Why?”

I was speechless for a moment while I thought about what he really needed to know. On the fly, I blurted out, “Because I want to follow through with Arvel’s plan. I think there might be something to his story.”

Lucan stayed silent for another few moments. When he finally spoke, it was with measured curiosity.

“You said rent. That means I keep the money, no matter what?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“Yes,” I confirmed.

“And I get the claw back if you are successful?”

“Yes,” I further confirmed.

“How much rent are we talking about?” Lucan inquired with a cocked eyebrow.

I tossed a leather pouch with coins in it onto his counter top. It was half of what Farengar had given me. Lucan picked it up and examined the contents.

“You sir, have a deal,” he said with a smile that this time I knew to be genuine. Lucan grabbed the claw from its display stand and handed it over to me.

“I’ll need the journal as well, Lucan. They are a set, after all,” I reminded him. His smile fell to a frown, but handed me Arvel’s notebook as well.

“I appreciate it Lucan. I will do my best to live long enough to return this to you. If Arvel was right, I will have lots of money to spend here as well. Trust me…you won’t regret it. For now, I need to place some provisions on my tab,” I told the shopkeeper.

Lucan hastily grabbed a piece of parchment and began scribbling as I placed bread, cheese, apples, and a couple of full water skins into my pack, his frown growing more intense the whole time. When I finished, he made it clear that the credit line had now been used up. But he did wish me luck on my way out. When I reached the roadway, I looked to the sky. It was tough to gauge the time through the cloud cover, but it had to be late afternoon by now. Leaving at this hour would probably not be the best choice. I decided to go rent a room at The Sleeping Giant and leave for the barrow in the morning. When I entered the inn, Orgnar seemed to genuinely be as pleased to see me as Lucan had attempted to feign.

“Well, if it isn’t the newest bard in Whiterun. Hello, Valrimor,” Orgnar said with a smile from behind the bar as he wiped a flagon and placed it on a shelf.

“Hello, Orgnar,” I replied, wondering how news of my buffoonery had made it to Riverwood. Delphine barked through the kitchen door that Orgnar had better be stocking the shelves with clean flagons for the night’s business. The Nord just rolled his eyes as he placed another flagon on the shelf.

“What can I get you?” he asked as I pulled a stool up to the bar.

“A room and some early supper,” I replied.

“Delphine has prepared a Chicken Alto that is to die for,” Orgnar suggested, “Of course, you already know the room will be ten Septims.”

I paid for the room and ordered the chicken dish. The food was delicious. Roasted chicken in a rich alto wine sauce with a sautéed combination of mushrooms, onions, and garlic. It came with bread that I used to mop up every bit of the sauce. I followed Ralof’s advice and drank water with my meal. Sated and somewhat weary, I bade a good night to Orgnar and went straight to my room. After cleaning up from my travels, I climbed in my bed and lay there for a while, looking at the ceiling. My mind wandered back to its earlier musings about my course of action once this errand was completed.

You have two distinct paths to choose from. One would be the likely fruitless search for answers about your paternity. The other would be the possibly fruitful pursuit of answers regarding your propensity to unleash wild Magicka when you lose your temper. The choice seems fairly simple…

Simple…

Nothing in my entire life had been “simple”.

Stop the self pity, Val. You can’t argue with the logic of this conclusion. Answers are more likely to be found with Tolfdir in Winterhold than with persons unknown in Riften. But that means getting over your aversion to Magicka.

I sighed with resignation. There would be plenty of time to figure this out after I returned from the barrow. I leaned over and extinguished the lantern on the nightstand, and then said a quick prayer to Stendarr, asking for a dreamless sleep. That prayer went unanswered.



I stood on the roof of a stone structure. The masonry work showed its age as well as its craftsmanship. There was no apparent entrance to my location, just a circular stone pad with a crenellated parapet wall around the entire perimeter. A grey mist was all that was visible in any direction beyond the wall. I walked to the edge and leaned through a crenel to look down…nothing but more grey mist…

Now I hear the beating of wings, soft at first but building to great whooshes of air that blew my hair backward as a dragon face appeared out of the mist. Crimson hatred blazed forth from its eyes. I stepped backward toward the center of the platform as it perched on the wall with one last mighty beat of its wings. The talons of its hind feet completely engulfed the merlons of the wall.

“So the wizard has sent you for the Dragonstone. Do not dare this folly, groveler! It can only spell your doom, as inevitable as that is already. The minions of the priests of old shall rend the flesh from your lifeless carcass. But we know already that you will not heed this warning. Still, groveler, I offer it to you. It is not too late to change your fate, a fate of pain and supplication. Mirmulnir awaits my word, and I shall give it, should you follow this path. Perhaps it will be enough for you to grovel before him, for I know that Mirmulnir will relish the view of you on your knees. Here is a taste of what you have coming should you persist…”

With that, the beast blasted dragon fire that seared the very marrow of my bones. I stared in horror as the flesh burned away from my bones. I couldn’t even scream…

Posted by: ghastley Jan 16 2014, 05:10 PM

I have only one problem with this chapter: you've given Delphine a redeeming feature, and that just doesn't fit with reality as we know it. If only she'd stick to cooking...

I followed Ralof’s advice and drank water with my meal - he's getting serious about this quest, isn't he?

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jan 16 2014, 07:35 PM

Now that's my kind of writing! Somewhere in all the slash and smash, there is time to sit down and enjoy a well-cooked meal!

I, too, wonder how Val's nearly-full Monty act made the news down in Riverwood, too!

Life is never simple, even when you think it is . . .

And ooh, some foreshadowing! I wonder where that is leading us!

Posted by: Darkness Eternal Jan 16 2014, 08:55 PM

Chapter 20: So, he's told what he's done when he was absolutely drunk and out of his senses? Next time, a good man named Sam needs to be involved! I heard he's good at parties and nights to remember.

We pass on to see Val meet a fellow woodie and some supplies for the journey. A comical episode, one that was enjoyed from start to finish.

Chapter 21: Ah, information on the Stormies and political goodies of the Civil War and the Jarl's involvement. Delphine can cook, but I still don't like her. I echo Ghastly's statement! One thing I do pity about Valrimor is that he never gets a good night's sleep, does he? Either he wakes up with a overwhelming hangover or he's plagued by nightmares. I wonder what the dream means. Dragons, mages, fire . . . hmm. Has us wondering.

Posted by: jack cloudy Jan 16 2014, 10:12 PM

The Nordmer returns. Yippee!

I don't think I have much to add that hasn't already been said. I do keep being amazed at the amount of liquor he downs in a day. It's like he can't walk five steps without ordering a mug of ale from someone.


Ralof's comments regarding Whiterun irritated me a little (mostly because I get too involved with these things). I like Proventus, and I'm rather anti-Stormcloak. But it makes sense that Ralof who was Stormcloak enough to hang out with Ulfric himself would be very pro-Stormcloak in everything. I do find it amusing how he is basically just chilling in Riverwood instead of hoofing it for Stormcloak territory at the earliest opportunity or staying indoors.


The mainstay of the dreams reminds me of what the Nerevarine experienced. It also puts some very strong hints at the role Val is going to play.

And finally, I like that he's reconsidering the Winterhold offer. He still doesn't like it, but he doesn't just dismiss it out of hand either.

Posted by: Acadian Jan 18 2014, 02:19 AM

“I always try to keep my word, Ralof. I have my faults, but not repaying a debt isn’t one of them,” I replied. It was a true statement, for the most part.’ - - This is an important truism about Val. And it comes into play later in this very episode.

’Lucan’s face dropped the smile and grabbed a concerned scowl in the blink of an eye.’ - - I’ve been wondering what his reaction would be to Val’s request for the claw. . . and you did not disappoint. Nevertheless, it is clear the merchant has taken a liking to, and trusts, Val. For the eventual agreement includes no financial incentive for Val to return the claw. Indeed, Lucan even agrees to let the elf go off to a very dangerous dungeon crawl with a full, unpaid tab. He clearly thinks highly of the elf’s skill and honor. And I agree with Lucan’s assessment in that regard. You did a great job of wrapping all this up within a gruff ‘manly’ patina as well.

And another great meal! As you can tell, your readers certainly enjoy being well-fed. And water!?! (Seriously, good choice, Val.)

’...said a quick prayer to Stendarr, asking for a dreamless sleep. That prayer went unanswered.’ - - A great segue into the terrifying dream sequence that followed.

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 18 2014, 05:25 PM

It is good to see Ralof again. Maybe not Hod though...

And Orgnar is happy to see Val. That is not a good sign. Oh no, he's heard about what happened in Whiterun! Maybe Val should join the Bard's College?

So Delphine can cook? At least she can do something useful...

And the eternal question - Mages Guild or Thieves Guild... Hopefully Val will go with the mages.

A wonderful (though not for Val!) more-than-nightmare at the end that shows Val's connection to Alduin, and the dragonblood in his veins. Through all of his bluster, Alduin seems afraid of Val. I wonder if Val will pick up on that?

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jan 22 2014, 04:37 AM

Thanks for all of your comments.

@ ghastley - Delphine needed something to offset that constant nagging.

@ haute ecole rider - The Skyrim version of Chicken Marsala, one of my favorite dishes. I actually asked Mrs. TSG to make some this weekend.

@ Darkness Eternal - I'm glad you enjoyed the humor in Ch. 20, and picked up on the fact that Val doesn't seem to be plagued by nightmares when he's smashed at bedtime in Ch. 21.

@ jack cloudy - Val is indeed a full blown alcoholic.

Apologies for Ralof ticking you off, but your are correct...he's as Stormcloak as you get. I also wonder why he is still laying around in Riverwood.

@ Acadian - Thank you for the very kind words. I guess I missed my mark in describing Lucan's demeanor. I wanted him to come off as selfish and somewhat greedy, not so much as trusting and friendly toward Val. He's in it for the money. Renting the claw was a win-win deal for him.

@ SubRosa - I don't think Hod will ever forgive Val...a bit over sensitive for a burly mill worker.

I'm not sure that Val has picked up on Aduin's fear, but I am glad you did.

*************************

Previously – Val has returned to Riverwood, fulfilling his promise to Gerdur. He met briefly with his friend Ralof, and then procured the Golden Claw from Lucan Valerius. Afterwards, he loaded up on provisions and had fruitlessly prayed for a good night’s rest…

26th Last Seed, 4E201

I awoke suddenly, gasping for breath and trying to brush flames from my skin. It took a moment to realize that it had been a dream and that I was safely lying in my bed at The Sleeping Giant. I sighed heavily and shuddered with relief. It occurred to me that the dream had changed again. The dragon did not say its usual bit about coming as it knew I must. Instead, it had tried to dissuade me from action.

I can’t take this…

I shook my head and stood up. Splashing cold water in my face at the basin cleared my head and helped me to focus on what lay ahead as I got dressed. I shoved the memories of the dream aside and set my resolve as I left my room to get some food.

A good breakfast and a determined attitude saw me out the door of the Sleeping Giant Inn. The previous day’s weather had not improved, although thankfully, it had not worsened. A cold north wind buffeted me as I climbed back up the crude path that led toward Bleak Falls. When I reached the ruined keep that had been the thieves’ outpost on my first trip, I paused for a moment. The bandit that I had pinned to the tree with an arrow shot had caught my eye. The entire lower half of her body was missing. The wolves had been at her. They had also taken both arms below the elbow. What remained, including the arrow, was now draped in icicles. Shaking my head, I continued on toward the barrow. When I started climbing the stone stairway that led to the entrance, I deliberately avoided looking at the charred remnants of my uncontrolled fury. Then I entered the barrow and almost gagged on the odor of rotting flesh. Large, fat flies buzzed loudly in thick clouds around the maggot ridden corpses of skeevers and bandits. By the time I had made my way to the remains of Arvel, I had nearly lost my morning meal twice. The Dunmer thief was still posted on the swinging gate trap. Much of Arvel’s flesh had been…removed…from his body.

“The minions of the priests of old shall rend the flesh from your lifeless carcass...”

I shuddered and shook my head at the memory of the dream. Staring at his mangled corpse, I whispered, “I sure hope you weren’t feeding me a line of skeever dung.”

Reaffirming my resolve, I nocked an arrow to my bowstring and crept deeper into the barrow. Proof that it would not be a boring trek came quickly. A body that I had presumed to be lifeless suddenly contradicted that presumption. It rose from its prone position, opening eyes that glowed with azure anger and drawing a sword as it did so. I knew that two shots would be required, so I nocked a second arrow as quickly as I could after the first shot was away. The effect was the same as before. Old blue eyes dropped like an empty sack when the second bowshot split its sternum. I had no sooner rounded a bend when this activity was repeated. But something caught my attention in the process. Before the Draugr had moved, I noticed that the corpse’s armor appeared to have less dust coating it than the armor of those that remained motionless. This proved to be valuable information, because now I knew what to look for. With this knowledge, I could snipe these undead before they even moved. But that only helped with the Draugr that I could see in chambers that were relatively well lit. Sudden surprises still lurked in the darker areas. Plus, the damned corpses had a nasty habit of popping out of crypt boxes like some sort of sick magician’s party trick.

Soon my progress came to a halt when I found myself confronted with a set of pendulums swinging across a narrow passage, each with a half moon blade at the end of it. I could well understand Ralof’s advice about keeping my wits. The blades swung too close to the floor to consider crawling under them. There did appear to be enough space between blades to pause and wait. The only solution was to attempt a dash-and-pause advance between the arcs of certain death. It took all of my concentration to time those sprints, but I managed to get through without being filleted. These events seemed to go on forever. Between the constant risings of the hate filled deceased, a second set of swinging blades, and the confined space, my nerves were totally frayed by the time I reached the end of the passage.

It appeared that I could go no further. A pair of large braziers lit the stone wall at the terminus. The wall had a set of three concentric half circles. At the center of this arrangement was a full circle with three holes in it. Each of the three semi-circles had symbols that were aligned with each other to the vertical. I dug Arvel’s journal out of my pack and reviewed the writing.

“If you have the Claw, the Key is in the Palm of your Hand.”

I took out the claw and examined it. Then I walked up to the wall and looked at the symbols on the semi-circles. That was when I made the connection. The three symbols on the palm of the artifact were of the same style as those on the wall. I touched one symbol and suddenly the stone ring rotated, revealing a new symbol. Grinning at my success, I quickly spun the rings so that the symbols matched the order of those on the claw. Consternation chased my grin away when nothing happened. I tried sticking my fingers in the holes of the center disk to turn it, but could not get it to budge.

Think, bark-brain…You must be doing something wrong…

I squatted in front of the rings and studied them intently, and then studied the claw further. All of the symbols were correct. I was stymied. I started unconsciously twirling the claw in my hand by the nub of stylized forearm, like a crank on a well handle–

A crank!

I examined the claw with renewed vision, and then looked at the holes on the center disc. It was clear to me now. I rose and inserted the claw’s talons into the holes of the center disc. They fit perfectly. Then I cranked the claw and the disc spun with ease. The grinding of stone against stone and falling dust caused me to step back. I stared in amazement as the entire wall slowly slid downward. Sudden panic struck when I noticed the claw nearing the floor. I dove and recovered the artifact just in time to keep it from being ground into worthless chunks of metal. With a sigh of relief, I looked into the passage beyond. Stairs led upward, which I found to be a pleasant change. I resumed my journey with an arrow at the ready. When I reached the top of the steps, the passage ended a short distance later at the entrance to a large chamber that nature had created with water and eons of patience. The ancient Nords has been busy in here as well. Stone masons had created several raised platforms and a bridge that spanned an underground creek being fed by several waterfalls. A shaft of daylight was shining down on a large stone platform that had another of the stone tombs I had been encountering. As I approached the bridge, a flight of cave swallows took wing and caused me to let out a short yelp of alarm.

http://i.imgur.com/DtEWnMx.jpg

I continued inward. At the back of the main platform was a monument of some kind that towered toward the cave ceiling. A stylized dragon’s head was carved in relief out of the stone between two monoliths that rose on either side, giving the entire structure the appearance of a shrine. All of this rested on a concave stone base. As I climbed the steps up to the platform, I noticed markings on the base. But the odd part was that one set of these carvings was starting to glow. I stared at it, transfixed as though I were in a trance. Everything else around me was lost to my vision as streamers of roseate and cyan light pulsed into me. A chanting sound filled my ears. My vision blurred momentarily, and I went rigid as a rush of power surged into every nerve of my body. Then it was over as suddenly as it had begun. Momentarily dazed, I stood there and wondered what had just happened.

Reality came bursting back as a now familiar sound came from behind me. I spun around and saw a very large Draugr climb out of the sarcophagus that sat on the platform. I quickly shot two arrows into the walking corpse, with little effect. It was armed with an axe that glowed with the same cerulean evil as its eyes. Its armor appeared somehow more…complete…than that of my previous foes. Its size was daunting, nearly a foot taller than the others I had encountered. The Draugr suddenly barked an odd sound at me and concussive force knocked me backward, as though I had been shoved by a large Orc. The beast took advantage of my lack of balance and charged toward me. I was not able to get another arrow nocked before I had to roll out of the way of its descending blade. The axe clanged on the stone with a shower of sparks that were contradicted by shards of ice that ricocheted off my armor. I got up and ran as fast as I could down the stairs while getting another arrow nocked. Then I spun and shot, hitting the Draugr again. This shot had stunned it and that was my chance, or so I thought. I charged toward it while drawing my sword. It had just about recovered, kneeling on one knee. The thing glared at me with blue hatred and uttered the sound again. The force of this next concussion knocked me backward, down the stairs head first. Excruciating pain filled my head as quickly as stars filled my vision. Ringing roared through my ears as though I was in a temple belfry when services were being called. As my vision began to clear, the Draugr had almost reached me. He was raising his axe and charging at me full speed. By sheer reflex, I kicked my legs upward while still lying on my back, managing to plant a foot firmly into its chest. The Draugr’s momentum caused its body to catapult completely over me as its axe blade grazed my shoulder. Instant numbing cold ran down my left arm. I heard a loud “crack” when the creature landed behind me. I got up and turned to discover that the beast had also risen, but its neck had broken. The creature’s head was dangling sideways above its shoulders, its eyes still shining with azure vehemence. Leaping and raising my sword with my good arm, I brought it down with all my might on the thing’s crooked neck. This neatly separated its head from the rest of it. The walking corpse fell to the stone as I fell to my knees, panting for air. A sudden rush of nausea caused my head to start swimming. I dropped my sword and fumbled with my right hand to open my pack. I dumped the contents trying to find a healing potion. Flashes of light refilled my vision as I searched, and then I pitched forward. Blackness prevented me from feeling anything as my face met the stone floor.

Posted by: Acadian Jan 22 2014, 07:04 PM

An ominous trek to the dungeon, then a harrowing trip inside, fighting blue-eyed Druglords.

So, Val figured out what the claw did. See? He’s not such a bark-brain.

Did Val just learn a dragon word or something?

Uh-oh, one of the Druglords knows how to shout! Well, not any more.

Nice screenie!

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 22 2014, 08:46 PM

I did not think of it in the previous episode, but Val's musings about his nightmare when he woke made me realize that it had not only changed, but that it had done so when he decided to go to BFB to retrieve the Dragonstone. As he thought, the dream was trying to dissuade him from action, and that was the action he was taking. I wonder when it will sink in to Val?

Looks like Val has been feeding the local wildlife. And perhaps wildundead as well...

opening eyes that glowed with azure anger
This was a particularly nice passage.

Old blue eyes dropped like an empty sack when the second bowshot split its sternum.
Wow, I know a lot of people are not fans of Frank Sinatra, but that is a little harsh!

Loved the screenshot. That ending chamber in BFB is one of the coolest looking places in the game.


Nits: You have some really long paragraphs in this episode. Most can squeak by, but the final one is just way too much. It makes for a very imposing wall of text. I suggest breaking it up into three or four paragraphs.

Posted by: jack cloudy Jan 22 2014, 09:18 PM

The distinction between the dream going from 'go ahead, make my day', to 'please stay away' was one I hadn't noticed till it was pointed out. And that must have been one mighty arrowshot, pinning the bandit so well the wolves couldn't pull the corpse down to the ground.


You skipped the filler parts of the barrow quite elegantly, saying only what was necessary to get the point across. By contrast, the door-puzzle was elaborated on nicely. You ran us through each step Val took to solving the puzzle and gave us desert in the funny image of him diving to the floor to save his rented key from getting smashed.



Now I only hope that he will learn a new trick soon. The draugr's shoving magic was quite a hindrance and payback is very liberating.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jan 23 2014, 10:12 PM

Bark-brain? I love it! I have to add it to the list along with tree-hugger, wood-eater, etc for the Bosmer! Derogatory coming from anyone else, but sarcastic coming from a Bosmer. Like a Mexican calling himself a "beanie," or an Italian calling herself "dago." As I am 1/4 Italian, I call myself a quarter-dago at times!

Now I don't have the game, so correct me if I'm wrong. But cave swallows? Maybe bats? Sometimes their flight patterns can be similar. Cave swallows cling to the walls, bats cling to the roof. If Val didn't see where they came from, maybe it would be difficult to see just what they were? I'm just wondering, that's all. I'm used to seeing bats in caves, not cave swallows, so that line caught my attention.

I echo everyone else, especially cloudy's comments.

Enjoyable as always. And I imagine Val is wishing for a nice, tall, stein of ice-cold ale, or maybe a stiff shot of Nordic whiskey, right about now.

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Jan 27 2014, 02:49 PM

@ Acadian - LOL @ Druglords! Perseverance did indeed pay off with the claw / key, but Val has no clue what happened to him at the word wall. Glad you liked the screenshot.

@ SubRosa - Val doesn't dwell too much on the dreams. He would prefer to forget them all together. So the import of Alduin trying to dissuade him from action has not sunk in...yet.

Regarding the nit...When I wrote that paragraph, I had the same thought. But being such a novice writer, I did not know how to correctly fix it. Since the entire paragraph deals with one particular subject matter and scene, I could not find a natural paragraph break. I would truly love some tutoring and/or an example on how to correct this.

@ jack cloudy - The wolves probably could have pulled the entire bandit corpse down. I think they just gave up since they had taken all of the good meat already. Or, perhaps they were distracted...who knows?

@ haute ecole rider - I'm glad you like Val's self-deprecating name calling. He has more of them, and I hope you'll like those as much.

As to the cave swallows, I went that way over bats because in-game, that's the impression they gave. They didn't seem bat-like at all. If I had Fraps to record the scene, I'd show you and you would see what I mean.

@ Everyone - Thanks again to you all for your kind critiques and comments! On with the story now...

**********

Previously – Val had returned to Bleak Falls Barrow on an errand for Farengar. He fought his way through Draugr, obstacles, and a puzzling entrance to the monument chamber. A battle with a Draugr Overlord had left him wounded and unconscious…

27th Last Seed, 4E201

The sound of falling water echoing off cave walls greeted my senses, followed by a wave of pain in my head and a numbness running down my left arm. I raised my head from a pool of congealed blood. My right hand went to my face and found a gash in my forehead and more dried blood on my cheek. When I examined my surroundings, memory replaced my disorientation. The contents of my pack were strewn about the floor. A large headless Draugr lay a few feet away, its head just a few feet further. When I tried to push myself up, my left arm gave way and I almost repeated a face plant on the stone. There was also dried blood on my arm and a shallow wound behind sliced leather on my left shoulder. A quick dose of healing potion revived the arm, although it was still sore and stiff.

I rose and walked over to the stream that babbled its way under the stone bridge. I washed my face, wincing as I cleansed the tender area on my forehead. That wince made an encore performance as I tended to the wound on my shoulder. I spared using more healing potion to completely rid myself of pain, as I still had to get out of this Gods forsaken barrow. Who knew what fresh Oblivions waited for me on the trek outward?

You’re getting a little ahead of yourself…the Dragonstone…

I frowned at the thought. Further examination of the area revealed that there was a chest next to the former guardian’s sarcophagus. I gathered all of my belongings and walked over to it. To my surprise, it was unlocked. Opening it failed to reveal any Dragonstone, but my dismay was tempered by the amount of loot held within. There were dozens of gold coins, a couple healing potions, and a leather helm that glowed with an iridescent aura. I realized immediately that this was a sign of some type of enchantment, but of what type I could not be sure.

With your luck, it is cursed with a spell of burdening that will leave you motionless here until you die of thirst and starvation…

That thought prevented me from trying it on, but I knew it could have great value, so I stowed it in my pack. On a small table nearby, two soul gems were in a pewter goblet. One glowed, indicating there was a trapped soul within. I placed these in my pack as well and turned my attention to the once undead guardian of the shrine. I loathed the idea of searching its body until I noticed something bulging out from behind its harness. When I pulled the item out, I actually laughed out loud. This had to be the Dragonstone. It was a stone tablet etched with a map and writings that I could not decipher. It did not appear fragile, yet I gingerly placed it in my pack as though it were made of glass.

Ok…time to leave…

I did not relish the idea of retracing my journey back through the catacombs of the barrow, especially those sets of pendulum blades. I did not think I could dodge them so well in my present condition. So I scanned the cave for other possible routes. A set of stairs climbed up the left side of the monument to an opening in the cave wall. This appeared to be the only other exit from the chamber. Since there was the possibility of more loot, and even better, an alternate exit from this mausoleum, I opted to investigate. The decision turned out to be the right one as I did indeed discover another loot filled chest and a back door. Soon I was deeply inhaling fresh air and enjoying the warmth of sunlight on my face. The only problem was that I had no clue as to my location in relation to Riverwood or Whiterun. I stood high on a mountainside, looking down into a valley that had a river running through the center.

Could this be the same river that passes Riverwood? Does it matter? There will likely be some sort of settlement along its banks where you can ask directions…

The climb down was arduous, as there was no defined path leading away from this barrow entrance. When I reached flatter ground, I tried to get my bearings. Not knowing whether it was morning or afternoon, the sun was useless as a guide. I decided to follow the river downstream. I hadn’t walked very far when I saw a small column of smoke rising from the opposite side of the river. Nocking an arrow and crouching, I approached the river bank for a better view. The smoke was from a campfire, and the gentle breeze was sharing the aroma of cooking fish with me, inciting growls from my stomach. Several more fish hung on a line that was strung between two poles. The fire was situated between the river bank and a lone tent. An occupant emerged and spotted me immediately.

“Lower your bow or my comrades shall kill you where you stand, thief,” said the woman as she quickly nocked an arrow of her own.

“I am no thief,” I replied as I glanced around for her comrades, “just a traveler that has had his appetite whetted by the smell of your food.”

“Then stow your weapon and cross. There is plenty if you do indeed be honorable,” offered the Nord, not stowing her own bow yet.

I still had provisions of my own in my pack, but the offer of fresh cooked fish was too good to be turned down. I slung my bow and crossed the river with my arms spread and visible, only slightly hindered by the shallow current over the ford that she had chosen to camp beside. I kept my eyes fixed on her bow until she also lowered it and set it aside. She was a fit young woman with boyishly short hair. A fishing pole rested across a backpack that was lying next to her tent. She eyed me with a measure of caution before she spoke.

“Are you a hunter as well?” she asked.

“Sometimes, but not today. I’m trying to get to Whiterun,” I replied.

“Taking a rather awkward route, are you not?”

“I got detoured from my way by…bandits,” I lied. “Before I knew it, I was lost in the mountains back there.”

She eyed the wound on my head and said, “Then I hope those bandits look worse than you do. Go ahead and take a seat, but do not presume that I am not ready for any trickery,” said the huntress, gesturing to a stump near the fire.

“Thanks,” I replied.

“I was just about to eat. You are welcome to join me,” she said as she dug wooden plates and forks out from her pack.

“I would like that…um…what was your name?”

“It was and still is Ingrid,” she replied with a sardonic grin.

“I’m Valrimor. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Will your comrades be joining us?”

Ingrid pointed to the string of fish and said, “They are already here. I didn’t want you to know I was all alone here.”

It didn’t bother me that I had been duped. In her position, I would have likely tried the same ruse. Ingrid presented a plate with flame broiled fish and a slice of bread. As we ate, she explained that she lived off the land, hunting and fishing for only what she needed. With some concern that I might consider her a poacher, she defended her actions by saying that the Jarl couldn’t possibly require all of the deer and fish within the hold. I asked her if she had any ale or mead to accompany our meal.

“I gave up libations when I left the city life behind me. All I can offer is boiled river water,” she replied, tossing me a water skin. I returned it to her, thanking her and saying that water was something I already had, and I retrieved a water bottle of my own from my pack. When I finished my meal, I asked Ingrid to point me towards Whiterun. She told me to follow the river northward past Riverwood. Knowing exactly where I was at that point, I thanked her for the food and said farewell. With the knowledge that the river flowed north, I now knew from the sun’s position that it was mid morning. I reached Riverwood around midday and entered Lucan’s shop. The shopkeeper was eating a sandwich behind the counter. A grin, that actually looked genuine this time, came to his face and allowed crumbs to fall from his mouth.

“You are back and alive!” Lucan said around a mouthful of food, and then added, “Happy Harvest’s End!” This sprayed even more crumbs onto his counter top.

Harvest’s End...the 27th of Last Seed…six days in Skyrim and it feels like six months…

Down in Cyrodiil, Harvest’s End used to be a major holiday in days of old, or so I had heard. These days it wasn’t recognized with as much revelry as it once had been. This was due to the fact that the 27th of Last Seed marked the anniversary of Uriel Septim VII’s assassination, which had started the Oblivion Crisis. There has been little celebration of anything in Cyrodiil since that day. Perhaps the holiday is not quite so tainted here in Skyrim.

“And a happy Harvest’s End to you as well. I have come to return your claw,” I replied, fishing the artifact out of my pack. The proprietor wiped his face and hands on a napkin before taking the claw from me. He quickly returned it to its display stand as I placed Arvel’s journal amidst the crumbs on Lucan’s counter.

“Thank you for keeping your word,” Lucan said, and then asked “Did you find what that thief was looking for?”

“Regrettably, I did not,” I lied.

“What a shame,” he replied with obviously feigned empathy, “but hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained, eh? Surely you will be requiring items to resupply your wares today, yes? Everything is marked down for the holiday.”

“No thanks, but thank you again for providing me with the claw. Have a nice holiday Lucan,” I said as I left the shopkeeper to finish his lunch.

“Everything is marked down for the holiday”…Maybe Harvest’s End was indeed a happier occasion up here, since even Lucan was discounting his merchandise. Could the taverns be offering specials as well?

That thought caused me to quicken my pace toward Whiterun.

Posted by: Grits Jan 27 2014, 03:43 PM

Whew, caught up again! What fun to have several updates to read at once.

I just love the expression ‘saved your bark.’

But something caught my attention in the process. Before the Draugr had moved, I noticed that the corpse’s armor appeared to have less dust coating it than the armor of those that remained motionless. This proved to be valuable information, because now I knew what to look for.

This is a great game detail with a story explanation that made me grin. You evoked that feeling of creeping through the crypt so well!

FWIW I thought cave swallow was a good description for the surprised birds. The cavern is open to the sky and is just the kind of natural place where chimney swifts or barn swallows would be found.

I love this! It could be cursed! Very sensible not to just try it on.

That was an excellent where-the-heck-am-I moment on the way out of the barrow.

Ingrid pointed to the string of fish and said, “They are already here. I didn’t want you to know I was all alone here.”

How fun! I guessed that the game’s lone hunter was bluffing, and she was. Nicely done.

With the changing dreams and the Word of Power Val is getting the pieces of the puzzle. I’m enjoying the journey as well as anticipating the moment that he sees it as a picture.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Jan 27 2014, 11:58 PM

TSG, do not take my questioning about the cave swallows/bats as criticism. I was just wondering if they were really cave swallows in the game. I don't have Skyrim, so all of this is only available to me through stories like yours. TBH, seeing the flying animals described as cave swallows was a breath of fresh air for me. I've worked with cliff swallows (a very closely related species) back when I volunteered in wildlife rehab and always thought them fascinating creatures. Beautiful, too, especially with their wings and forked tails. If you say in game they are more like cave swallows than bats, then I'll take your word for it!

Yes, I would like more names to add to my list! I will keep an eye out for them!

I was tickled by Val's thought processes as he evaluated the loot. The part quoted by Grits was a standout in a piece that was overall pretty much a standout.

This brings me back to all the Ayleid ruins I explored in Cyrodiil. I hated those pendulums too, though I prefer them to the drop blades.

I liked his encounter with Ingrid the huntress. She is savvy and smart and a tough cookie to beat. My kind of woman!

Of course, is true-blue Val as we have come to know him!

Posted by: Acadian Jan 28 2014, 04:34 PM

‘When I examined my surroundings, memory replaced my disorientation.’ - - I admire the phrasing you used here.

‘With your luck, it is cursed with a spell of burdening...’ - - Ah yes, the need for a scroll of identify.

Whew, found that pesky Dragonstone.

Woot! Chow time! Ingrid was clever to initially be suspicious and imply she was not alone.

Nice little tribute/mention of Uriel VII’s assassination and its lingering effects in Cyrodiil.

‘Could the taverns be offering specials as well?’ - - There’s the Val we know. Hmm, I wonder if ‘tavern specials’ will once again spell trouble for the brew-fancying Bosmer.

Posted by: SubRosa Jan 28 2014, 04:55 PM

Old News: On the big paragraph. The entire fight is a subject, but it need not be the subject of a single paragraph. You can break the fight up into multiple paragraphs, with the subject of each being one facet/set of moves. For example, I would take that paragraph and break it like so:

Reality came bursting back as a now familiar sound came from behind me. I spun around and saw a very large Draugr climb out of the sarcophagus that sat on the platform. It was armed with an axe that glowed with the same cerulean evil as its eyes. Its armor appeared somehow more…complete…than that of my previous foes. Its size was daunting, nearly a foot taller than the others I had encountered.

I quickly shot two arrows into the walking corpse, with little effect. The Draugr suddenly barked an odd sound at me and concussive force knocked me backward, as though I had been shoved by a large Orc. The beast took advantage of my lack of balance and charged toward me. I was not able to get another arrow nocked before I had to roll out of the way of its descending blade. The axe clanged on the stone with a shower of sparks that were contradicted by shards of ice that ricocheted off my armor.

I got up and ran as fast as I could down the stairs while getting another arrow nocked. Then I spun and shot, hitting the Draugr again. This shot had stunned it and that was my chance, or so I thought. I charged toward it while drawing my sword. It had just about recovered, kneeling on one knee. The thing glared at me with blue hatred and uttered the sound again. The force of this next concussion knocked me backward, down the stairs head first.

Excruciating pain filled my head as quickly as stars filled my vision. Ringing roared through my ears as though I was in a temple belfry when services were being called. As my vision began to clear, the Draugr had almost reached me. He was raising his axe and charging at me full speed. By sheer reflex, I kicked my legs upward while still lying on my back, managing to plant a foot firmly into its chest. The Draugr’s momentum caused its body to catapult completely over me as its axe blade grazed my shoulder. Instant numbing cold ran down my left arm. I heard a loud “crack” when the creature landed behind me.

I got up and turned to discover that the beast had also risen, but its neck had broken. The creature’s head was dangling sideways above its shoulders, its eyes still shining with azure vehemence. Leaping and raising my sword with my good arm, I brought it down with all my might on the thing’s crooked neck. This neatly separated its head from the rest of it. The walking corpse fell to the stone as I fell to my knees, panting for air.

A sudden rush of nausea caused my head to start swimming. I dropped my sword and fumbled with my right hand to open my pack. I dumped the contents trying to find a healing potion. Flashes of light refilled my vision as I searched, and then I pitched forward. Blackness prevented me from feeling anything as my face met the stone floor.

Basically the new first paragraph is just a description of the Draugr. Note that I moved the sentence about Val firing his first shots into the second paragraph, to keep the first just about the Draugr. Then we have the first passage of arms, followed by distinctive phases of the battle, such as Val having to roll aside to dodge, changing to his sword, being knocked to the ground and dealing with being stunned, getting back up to fight again, etc...

New News:
With your luck, it is cursed with a spell of burdening that will leave you motionless here until you die of thirst and starvation…
I like the sound of that! Back in my days of P&P Roleplaying we used to joke that the best way to kill a part of adventurers was to put a big sign on a door saying "Danger, Do not Open or you will Die!", with a lethal trap beyond, like a lake of lava that comes rushing out of the doorway. No adventurer in the world could resist opening a door with a sign like that!

Val is taking stock and licking his wounds. If he is going to keep this up, I think he needs to get a helper. Or learn to summon one.

Ahh, and a local fisherwoman. I bet she has been hunting and fishing in these parts for years, and that her poaching doesn't hurt anyone. Her distrust of a stranger is understandable. OTOH, she was very hospitable nonetheless.

Oh goodness, I was right about her poaching!

Harvest’s End...the 27th of Last Seed…six days in Skyrim and it feels like six months…
No kidding, with all he has been through already!

And with thoughts of taverns it is back to Whiterun, and possibly at stop at the Honningbrew Meadery on the way? But perhaps Val ought to take a cue from the fisherwoman, and give up on the honey-juice?

Posted by: ThatSkyrimGuy Feb 1 2014, 10:18 PM

Well, I didn't get as much reading as I would have liked while I was home during "snowmaggedon", but I shall endeavor to do better.

@ Grits - So glad to see you get caught up. Val and I have missed your comments. Thank you for the kind ones you just left.

I'm glad you liked the insertion of that game detail. Sniping Draugr before they rise is a tactic I am sure gets used by all who play the game.

As lesson I remembered from encountering a dead novice and a certain ring in another ES game.

@ haute ecole rider - Oh, my dearest Ms. Rider, I did not take your comment about bats vs. swallows as criticism at all! Quite to the contrary, I found it to be quite sensible since you do not play the game. I was just wishing I could show you footage so you could get the feel for the moment. So, no harm, no foul, no worries.

I had a feeling you would enjoy Ingrid...another calm moment with food in a world that tends toward violence.

@ Acadian - I'm glad you liked the reference to the importance of 27th Last Seed to a resident of Cyrodiil.


Val doesn't always get in trouble when he drinks...

@ SubRosa - Old News: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! Your example of how to turn a "wall of text" into the building blocks of better writing is very greatly appreciated.

New News:

Funny that you should mention that. My nephew, who knows his uncle to be as geeky as he is, is a DM in a D&D group. He asked me to join when he started their latest quest, and I accepted. I will be going over there tonight to level up my character and play the next session. But the funny part is that he did the exact ploy you described, with the same results!

I doubt Val will stop at the meadery...he has already been accused of being a spy for the competition by the owner...but I don't see him joining a twelve step group anytime soon either.

**********

@ Everyone - As always, thanks so much for your critique and comments. Here's the next installment...

Previously – Val had survived his second trip to Bleak Falls Barrow and, after a riverside lunch with a friendly hunter, returned the Golden Claw to Lucan Valerius. He is on his way back to Whiterun to give the Dragonstone to Farengar…

Chapter 24 – Evening Celebration and Morning Revelation

27th Last Seed, 4E201 - Continued

It was near dusk when I reached the main gates to the city of Whiterun. Additional troops atop the city walls gave testament to Balgruuf’s concern over a potential threat from the skies. The two guards at the gate were commiserating with each other by complaining about dragons causing them to miss out on celebrations. When I entered, I could understand why they were disgruntled.

I could not believe the transformation that had taken place in my absence. Strings of small lanterns hung along the eaves and awnings of every building. Some had colored lenses, giving them a magical look. Bundles of wheat and corn stalks, trussed with colored ribbon and decorated with wild flowers, were standing near every porch and stoop. Wreaths made of painted gourds and more wild flowers adorned all of the doorways. Lit candles sat on the sill inside every window. Laughter and music seemed to fill the air, as if it were impossible for the buildings to contain them. It was just as impossible to keep a huge smile from my lips.

I made a beeline for the tavern, as my thirst had become great during the trek from Riverwood. I entered the pub and found it filled to near capacity with revelers. Elrindir greeted me with a hearty holiday salutation, saying he was glad to once again have the company of a kinsman. I responded in kind and ordered a tankard of his Errant Aim Stout. While he was away, I looked around the tavern. Holiday decorations hung from every rafter and beam. A rather rotund woman with an amazing voice was singing on a small stage in the corner. She had far too much exposed cleavage for my taste.

If she leans forward the slightest bit, she’s going to spill out everywhere…

A skinny young man sat on a short stool in front of her, accenting her song by deftly hammering notes on a dulcimer. The contrast in size between the two was striking. He would glance up from time to time, as if in fear of a fleshy avalanche. The performance was quite pleasing, if not comical to observe. Elrindir returned with my beverage and I placed a pile of coins on the bar, since I planned on having more than one. He looked at me as though I were daft.

“The drinks are free kinsman,” said Elrindir, “it's Harvest’s End. Do they not celebrate this holiday where you come from?”

“Actually, they don’t. At least not like this, and certainly not with free drinks,” I replied. “Thank you, Elrindir. By the way, do you know if Dragonsreach will be receiving visitors this evening?”

“They don’t like visitors after dusk, unless it is an emergency. Add the holiday and I would assume not,” Elrindir stated, and then asked, “Do you have business with the Jarl?”

“I have completed a task for his court wizard and wanted to inform him of that,” I replied, “but I guess it can wait until morning.”

“Ah, so perhaps you’ll perform again tonight?” asked the Bosmer barkeep in obvious jest, “I am sure my patrons would love it!” Then he laughed and I could not help but join in.

“No, I only do private shows these days,” I added through our laughter.

“I would pay for that,” announced a female voice from behind me.

I turned to look for the source of the comment and was greeted by the smile of a Dunmer as she stepped up to the bar. She vaguely resembled what Irileth might look like if the housecarl ever decided to don a friendly face. Her hair was much darker than Irileth’s and tied back with wind braids. Thin streaks of amber colored war paint decorated her cheeks and chin, giving that smile an undertone of severity without detracting from its beauty. She wore leathers that were similar to my own, but fit much more attractively than mine ever could. An iron sword hung at her waist and a dagger rode her right hip. The she-elf seemed to be looking me over with the same appraising eye that I was affording her.

“Valrimor, meet Jenassa,” Elrindir said, “She is a mercenary ranger that stays in a room here when she is not out killing those with lesser talents.”

“I like your use of the word ‘talent’, Elrindir,” she stated while keeping her eyes focused on me, “for I am an artist, and death is my art. Like any artist, my talents seek a patron. For a mere handful of gold, I will follow you into any danger.”

“How about I just buy you a drink for now?” I asked, gesturing to the stool next to mine.

Jenassa laughed as she sat next to me and replied with humorous sarcasm, “Big spender when the drinks are free, I see. But that would be a nice start, Valrimor.”

Elrindir, Jenassa, and I were the only three mer in the tavern, so we sat to the side and conversed. We shared humorous anecdotes about past adventures, laughing at each other’s follies over numerous tankards of ale. Jenassa even convinced me to dance once when a trio of men took the stage and played an upbeat tune. I kept all of my clothing on this time. The party lasted for hours, and it was well past midnight when Jenassa and I stumbled up the stairs.



28th Last Seed, 4E201

I awoke with the feeling of warm skin against my back and a grey colored arm added to my anatomy. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Jenassa’s face, smeared with the yellow war paint she had been wearing, sleeping soundly. Flashes of memory from the night before brought a grin to my lips. However, the throbbing in my head was trying to chase that grin away.

Wow, do these people know how to celebrate! One day I shall have to return to Bruma and show Cyrodiilic Nords how Harvest’s End is supposed to be…

I gently moved her arm and she rolled over to face the other way. I intended to leave as quietly as possible, before Jenassa woke and expected me to stay with her. A cursory glance around the room indicated that this might be easier said than done. My attire was scattered all about the floor, comingled with hers. As I attempted to extricate myself from the bed, a sultry voice made it clear that I would no longer need to be stealthy.

“Going somewhere?” Jenassa asked.

“Um…yeah…I was…uh…just going to get some herbal tea for this head of mine. Would you care for some?” I replied while standing and donning my underclothes.

The Dunmer chuckled while casting a knowing look that confirmed my ruse was not to be believed. She asked me to toss her chemise to her as I continued dressing. I did so and when she stood, part of me wanted to get undressed again and pull her back to bed. A few random battle scars did not take anything away from her lithe beauty as the chemise slid down her raised arms and cascaded into place over her form. I shook my head and continued to dress. Jenassa had been watching me as well with a small grin and continued dressing in silence. We left the room together and went down to the main hall where Elrindir and his brother were busily cleaning the detritus of Harvest’s End. I ordered some tea for both of us. After the publican gave us our beverages and took our orders for breakfast, I turned to face the Dunmer mercenary.

“Listen…Jenassa,” I began, but she cut me off, laying her index finger across my lips.

“You don’t need to say anything, Valrimor. Last night was last night. I’m not ready to go house hunting,” Jenassa said with a smile. She removed her finger and continued, “We were good together, and perhaps we shall repeat this encounter one day, but you need not get all flustered with our parting. To be honest, I could look forward to that day. But until then, let’s just keep this as a good memory, especially when memories of this quality are so hard to come by in these times.”

Relief flooded through me. It must have shown on my face because Jenassa made a sardonic comment about me not needing to seem so glad about it. She feigned an angry face that she couldn’t hold for long before bursting out with laughter that brought a smile back to my face. Elrindir returned with our food and then resumed his cleaning. While we ate, I asked her about Whiterun and her stay here.

“There is always plenty of work for me here. That is why I have chosen to make this city my home. Elrindir is most accommodating, as he should be considering how much I pay him. And the work is usually fairly simple, as mercenary work goes. I had considered joining the Companions, but there is something about that outfit that seems a little odd. Instead, I often play the middle in the Grey-Mane’s endless feud with the Battle-Borns-” she stopped and stared at me.

I had frozen in the middle of raising my fork and was staring at her with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“What is it?” she asked, “You look as though you have seen a ghost.”

“Did you say ‘Grey-Mane’?” I asked her.

“Yes. They are a clan with holdings here in Whiterun. The Grey-Manes and the Battle-Borns, another clan here in town, have an ongoing feud that has lasted for years,” Jenassa replied.

“Have you ever heard of an Erik Grey-Mane?” I inquired further, a knot of apprehension forming in the pit of my stomach.

“I can’t say as I have. But I have not met everyone in Clan Grey-Mane. You should talk to Fralia, the matriarch of the clan. She owns one of the vendor kiosks in the plaza,” the Dunmer informed me.

“I will,” I said as I rose and started toward the door. I stopped and returned to the bar to leave enough coin for both breakfasts, then kissed Jenassa and thanked her for the information. With that, I turned and left the Drunken Huntsman.

*****

EDIT: Nit picked.

Posted by: SubRosa Feb 2 2014, 04:13 AM

Ah, so perhaps you’ll perform again tonight?” asked the Bosmer barkeep in obvious jest, “I am sure my patrons would love it!”
Oh let's hope not!

I remember the first time one of my characters talked to Jenassa, they thought she was an assassin because of her speech about being an artist.

Hopefully Jenassa won't make any works of art with Val that night...

And now the awkward morning after. Looks like Val had no luck slinking off quietly.

And a clue about Val's foster father Erik. I wonder if he might get dragged into the Greymane/Battleborn feud himself soon.

Posted by: Acadian Feb 2 2014, 05:16 PM

’... ordered a tankard of his Errant Aim Stout.’ - - I still chuckle over this brew’s name. Unfortunately, it has the effect of obscuring much of what was probably a quite enjoyable night with the Dunmeri she-elf mer-maid.

Happily, both mer seemed to be of similar mind in the morning.


Nit: “The drinks are free kinsman,” said Elrindir, “its Harvest’s End.” - - Its = possessive. It’s = it is. Naturally, you want the latter here.

Posted by: haute ecole rider Feb 2 2014, 08:02 PM

So there's the tavern discount! Yay Valrimor!

I agree that he isn't doing the twelve step program anytime soon either. And I don't think it would do this story justice if he did. Let's face it, the 12 Steps are no walk in the park, and people usually don't retain their sense of humor doing it. Sure he can think about doing it, just not now!

And a lovely encounter with a lovely Dunmer lass! Loved seeing the morning after - no need to tell us how the night went. And she is my kind of woman, too! Smart, sensible, and practical in the matters of the heart and otherwise.

Posted by: Grits Feb 5 2014, 05:06 PM

Oh, I love the description of Whiterun decorated for Harvest’s End! Free drinks, it’s Valrimor Day!!

I enjoyed Jenassa’s morning after remarks. I like her slightly formal manner of speaking. Nicely done!