A Question of Fate Options

[Acadian]

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’?

[SubRosa]

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?

This post has been edited by SubRosa: May 24 2013, 09:22 PM

[McBadgere]

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*...

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

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...

Chapter 6 – Free of Pursuit

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.

[Acadian]

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!

[SubRosa]

You are right that there is no "The" on the map. I am used to always seeing it written as 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.

[jack cloudy]

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.

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

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…

Chapter 7 – Riverwood

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.

[mALX]

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!

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.

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:

Lawlessness ran rampant in the streets and taverns.

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

This segment was fascinating!

[mALX]

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

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

[mALX]

Chapter 6:

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

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:

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.

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!

[mALX]

Chapter 7 – Riverwood

It was a small town indeed. In fact, the word “town” was probably too grand a title.

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!

My ears perked at the mention of mead.

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!

[Acadian]

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.

[jack cloudy]

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!

[Grits]

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!

[SubRosa]

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 Jarl Ballin' about the dragon? Or strike out on his own? I suspect that nothing is going to happen until the mead start flowing though...

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

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.

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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…

Chapter 8 – Mead and Morning Muzziness

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.

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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.

[Grits]

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*

[Acadian]

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.

[mALX]

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

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.

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:

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

I am loving this story! Awesome Write!


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