Trouble never comes alone Options

[jack cloudy]

Yes, so I just couldn't resist and had to get this off my chest. We'll see how long it lasts. Same deal as with redemption, I'll be using this post as a character list and the first part will be in the next one. For now the list is simple.

A question. Should I add a separate entry for Spar at the very bottom that is basically the extra-spoilers edition?

Spar: A female Imperial and the main character of this story. Is guided by 'Them'.
(Portrait)

Silent Fist: A Companion Spar hires to escort her into Bleak Falls Barrow. He doesn't speak, wear shirts or use weapons. Click here for portrait

Faendal: A wood elf who lives in a small village known as Riverwood. He works as a hunter and lumberjack.

Lucan Valerius: The shopkeeper of Riverwood.

Jarl Balgruuf: The Jarl of Whiterun, a city located in the center of Skyrim between the fronts of the Imperial and Stormcloak factions.

Hrongar: Jarl Balgruuf's brother. Looks like he walked off the set of a Conan-film.

Irileth: A Dunmer who serves as Jarl Balgruuf's bodyguard.

Proventus Avenicci: Jarl Balgruuf's steward.


Vilkas: One of the Companions, a mercenary group in Whiterun
Vignar Grey-Mane: Formerly of the Companions, now retired.

Ulfric Stormcloak: The rebel leader in Skyrim, once on of the Emperor's generals.

Arkarik: Someone Spar was supposed to meet in Cyrodiil.

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Aug 1 2013, 06:34 PM

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Marking this for later!

[jack cloudy]

First part is right here. I'll try to get an update for Redemption out tomorrow.



Chapter 1.1: The terrible fire.


"Come on, get up! We have to move now!" The fur-clad man shouts. He doesn't need to. Even though inside I want to curl up and cry from sheer terror, my body has already begun to run from left to right in an erratic pattern but always getting closer to the nearest cover. The woodcutting axe is ditched as well, too heavy for sprinting. It is good that the winds have kept the path swept clear of snow.


Up the stairs, up, up, up. Ignore the sounds behind you. The screams, the wooosh!! of burning oils and the loud rumble of falling stone. Turn right for the door and the protective overhang.
"In there!" The man yells. No need to tell me twice. Slip between the crack and head for the nearest shadow. Look around. Nobody here.


The man comes in, dragging his quiver and bow behind him. He kicks away the wedge that has been slipped beneath the doors and the large metal slab falls shut, shutting out the sounds and the danger. Safe. Control was passed back to me and I fell to the hard cold floor, gasping for air. I hadn't run this far and hard in over a month. Ironically, the reason back then had been the same.
"What is that thing?" The man asked himself. It took me a while before his question registered. When it does, a single word was all I can muster.
"Helgen."


I could more feel than see him stare at the door as if he could see through it and look at the flying impossibility that was assaulting the old watchtower and the thieves who had taken up residence there. Then, he shook his head and turned his attention inwards.
"It doesn't seem as if anyone's here, or has been for a while. Get some rest. I'll see if I can rekindle that firepit." He said and moved over to the ashpile. It was the only lightsource left in the place, standing out as a vague shade of gray in pure blackness.


He brushed aside the ash to expose the last few glowering cinders. Fresh wood and air completed the recipe for fire. I felt too tired to go there, my limbs ached, my feet were frozen solid and my lungs burned. But Them take over once more and force me back onto my feet and closer to the fire. I watch the shadows as I walk. They leap back and forth, never showing more than glimpses of the chamber we are in. There are claws, the hint of a wing and sharpened beaks. At first I think they are actual beasts, but then I walk right passed one of the heads. They are stone sculptures. That doesn't make it any better. There is just something about them, something familiar though it is no creature I can remember.


"What now, Faendal?" I asked the man and sat down to warm my hands and toes by the fire. They stung when the blood began to flow again.
"Now? Now we warm ourselves and eat the food I prepared." Faendal said and opened his backpack. From there he pulled out a package of wrapped meat and bread. He split it, gave half to me and bit into the other half himself. I broke off small pieces to nibble on and looked around some more.


It looked as if the thieves have made camp here. The firepit was theirs obviously, but there was also a quartet of unfolded bedrolls and backpacks lying around us. Faendal and I both began to rummage through them once we were done eating, which didn't take long. There was more food in mine, bits of charred meats and berries. A torch on a loop, an old knife, little more than a broken shard of iron wrapped in leather. And finally a small book. I flipped it open, noting the rough handwriting. Skyrim of course, useless to me. But Faendal might be able to make something from it. I handed it over and watched him as he reads.


"Hmm, looks like those poor bastards at the tower were right. Their bosses have gone into the barrow. With the claw." Faendal muttered. The only words I got were 'barrow' and 'claw'. One was the place we were in right now, the other the thing we were looking for. Or rather, the thing Faendal was looking for. If I hadn't been accused of stealing the damned piece of junk along with the knife-eared hunter, I would never have come along. It wasn't my problem. I hadn't done it! I could just punch the batty old hag for insinuating me. And for what? Because I spoke with the elf whenever I got the chance? I did that because he was one of only three people in the village that knew proper Cyrodiilic. Not because I had been planning a crime with him.


So why did I come? Curiosity I guessed. Curiosity in the big structure that dominated the mountain. That's why I came, not for the claw, not for Faendal but only because I didn't have anything better to do. With that monster out there, maybe I shouldn't have come anyway.
"Better here than down in Riverwood. The town is very visible and undefended." Them told me. I felt a bit sorry for master smith and the others, but Them were right. I'd seen the flying beast ravage a town much larger than Riverwood, one that had been swarming with archers and spearmen. Riverwood, had nothing.
"The only defense those people have right now is praying that the monster's belly is satisfied with the thieves up here."


"Alright, they were last here two days ago. And the camp is still here so they didn't leave either." Faendal muttered to himself. Did he know the danger his home was in? He looked at me and nodded.
"We go in deeper to see what happened to them. It's not as if we have anything better to do while we wait for...whatever it is, to go away. But at the first sign of danger we're out of here. This isn't worth dying over."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


He got up far too soon for my liking, gesturing at the torches and the fire he'd made. The message was clear even without words. Light a torch and follow behind so that Faendal can keep his bow prepped for trouble. I did as he suggested though I would have preferred to just sit by the fire, perhaps take a nap, and then leave instead of trying to find what had so obviously killed the four thieves. Unless they carried a second set of backpacks and bedrolls and made camp again further up ahead, which didn't make any sense. Speaking of backpacks, I took one for myself.
"Come danger. Push him into it and run. This isn't your fight." I told myself as we moved out.


There was a passage hewn out of the rock that descended deep and straight into the mountain. I hadn't seen it yet, but the elf had which didn't come as much of a surprise. When a man can read lips in a snowstorm at a hundred metres, it is a waste of effort to try and beat him at a spotting contest. It just isn't natural.


Broken coffins, rolls of ancient linen, iron candlesticks, an assortment of gems. The Barrow was not only bone-bitingly cold, it was also utterly dry. A perfect place for keeping anything in perfect condition. The iron wouldn't rust, and the bodies inside those sarcophagi would remain intact for millennia. Except they didn't. There were no bodies at all even though the coffins looked like they'd been used. No bodies and a lot of valuables lying around in plain sight? It was as if the local tomb-robbers had done things in reverse. Why would any robber be interested in old meat instead of treasure he could actually sell?


A memory comes to me, then another. A tomb in the shadow of the fire mountain. An ashpit holding the bones of some worshipped ancestor with a magical ring lying in the skull's mouth as an offering. The ring would be worth a nice bit of coin so I reach out to take it. The skull bites down on my hand, tearing off fingers. Then the ash moves and rises into a mocking resemblance of man, holding an axe.


I squeeze my empty hand into a fist and look at the darkness around us. This place is also tomb and therefore dangerous. Any moment the dead can rush us, to kill and murder. To turn us into another pair of guardians! Loops, loops on the walls, the floor and the ceiling. Loops of stone writhing, twisting, crawling. Biting at my ankles. Eyes, eyes everywhere. Watching, judging, warning.
"Pull yourself together!"


I became aware of the loud and rapid gasps that is my breathing. The torch was now in both hands like a sword and I thought I'd singed some of the elf's brows. I must have swung at him when he yelled. I focussed on my breathing, drawing in slow and deeply till I stopped feeling lightheaded. Then I mumbled an apology.
"Sorry." Just one word didn't cut it though and I could see him consider whether or not he should send me back up to the entrance. In the end he shook his head though and waved with his hand that we both should continue on.
"The ground has changed. Stay behind me." He said and looked at me for a second as he put an arrow in his hand.
"Far behind me."



My second apology stopped somewhere in the back of my throat with the realization that the ground was indeed different. It was sticky like some oils but didn't splash. I held my torch low to see better, being careful not to splatter anything in case it was oil after all. It wasn't, but the silvery strands that crisscrossed from floor to ceiling in a thick pattern was possibly even worse.
"Faendal. Spiders." I whispered to the elf who had already gone ahead outside my circle of light. I could hear his footsteps stop and the scritch scritch of the webs as he turned. There had to be thousands of them. I heard a loud hiss and with a heavy thump something fell, right on top of Faendal. The loud snap! must be his bow breaking. Not good. Control was taken away.


Get into the nearest coffin for cover. Assume multiple spiders and that their senses in the dark are superior to yours. Keep the torch as a shield, fire scares most creatures. Where is Faendal? I can hear him yell and the spider struggle to keep him pinned down. That means he is still an active combatant. Use him. What is the precise species? Wayrest Tombdweller-related? Think of weaknesses he can exploit. Fire? No, the torch is a last resort for your own escape. Anatomical weaknesses. The tombdweller has a direct passage to the brain, unarmored and open at the moment of its attack. Right through the poison-glands.
"Between the mandibles! Hit it!"


It shrieks and falls with that one fatal blow.
"Way ahead of you." Faendal gasps. It is not safe yet, there could be more arachnids lurking in the darkness. We will guide till the danger has passed. Now, get up and move to the elf.
"I've fought Frostbites before, you know. Though I usually get to keep my distance." He says. He doesn't take the knife he'd stabbed into it but turns back to the entrance.
"I'd say this counts as a clear sign of danger. Let us leave, sister."


Them became silent and I gladly walked back the way we came.
"Is anyone out there?! Wait, please!" Who was that? No, I knew it was best ignored and so I didn't hesitate even if Faendal froze. It had to be one of the thieves, preserved in silken bonds for when the spiders get hungry.
"Faendal! Let's go!" I said. It wasn't worth it.
"Please! Get me out of here! I don't want to be eaten!" Faendal turned again. I waved the torch to the tunnel and said his name again, more urgent this time.
"Faendal!"


"Be quiet. This time of the year there is only the motherspider and her eggs. We'll be fine." He said. Would we? Tombdwellers were colonial creatures, one mating queen and its workers. These frostbites, why would they be any different?
"It is his life he risks. The hunter speaks truth." Them couldn't lie. Not to me. But the elf was involved in a mating contest. Who knew what risks he was and wasn't willing to take for winning the Cyrodiil woman's affection? And what about the tomb's own guardians?
"The spiders ate them."

Yes. I couldn't trust the hunter's judgement. But Them were wiser than me. Them would steer me away from danger. So I followed him. I could use his help getting back to town. Or to another one if Riverwood had been torched to the ground. I followed him and the thief's voice till we came to a cocoon holding an ashen-skinned elf.
"Oh, thank Mara." He yelped. "Cut me loose, friends."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~









OOC: The main character is a damsel in distress again. I have issues.

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Mar 18 2013, 11:13 PM

[Darkness Eternal]

New story? I'm glad to see a fresh one! Of Faendal, Riverwood and Helgen and of course, firewood. So what was that? A dragon attack?

I am interested.

Nits:
My only concern is the proximity of the dialogue to the paragraph.

For example.
"Like this"

[Elisabeth Hollow]

I liked the area triggering a flashback and a panic attack. Good deal!

I always liked Faendal. Except when he was fawning over Camilla XD

[McBadgere]

I liked this... ...Not unsurprisingly...

I've got a feeling who the Them are/is...But I will gladly wait and see...

Excellent stuff Jack!...

Nice one!...

*Applauds heartily*...

P.S. Faendal rocks... ...

[Acadian]

Congrats and best wishes on your new story!

Impressions of cold, dark, old dungeons and plenty of mystery afoot.

‘There was a passage hewn out of the rock that descended deep and straight into the mountain.’
This was wonderfully phrased. I think it was the creative use of ‘hewn’.

‘It had to be one of the thieves, preserved in silken bonds for when the spiders get hungry.’
Yikes, like we need more reasons to be afraid of spiders!

[mALX]

Just saw this, didn't even know you'd started another story! I haven't read it yet, just getting it locked into my email so I'll get reminders with every update, and will be catching up on Redemption and this both in the next couple days.

[jack cloudy]

Thanks everyone!

Darkness, I personally like the dialogue close to general narrating. Sure, putting them right in the middle of a line flanked on each side with the narrator is a no-no, but I don't like splitting off the dialogue from the paragraphs they go with either.

As for your suspicions on what happened right at the start, you'll get your answer today. It won't be much of a surprise though.


Elisabeth, I always pick Faendal in the love triangle. For two reasons. One, he actually has a reward worth getting. (namely, himself) Two, I don't like Sven's mom.


And to everyone else. Thanks for reading again.




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



The dark elf was wrapped up tight and strung to the wall. Right above his head was a cluster of eggs. I looked at the eggsack then back at the thief. He was very lucky those spiderlings hadn't hatched yet. The mer repeated his pleas for freedom but Faendal held up his hand and cut him off.
"Not so fast. You took something from Lucan Valerius' shop down in Riverwood. I want it back." He said. I followed the exchange between the two with growing unease. That Faendal wanted to get the claw before freeing the elf was smart, but not freeing him at all would have been even smarter. I didn't like the bandit's eyes. They'd gone from frightened of dying to pure calculating in a heartbeat. It didn't seem like Faendal had noticed however.


I resolved to tell him and grabbed his sleeve.
"Faendal. I don't trust him. Leave him!" I whispered in his ear. If the dark elf had heard, he didn't mention it and honestly I didn't care if he had. The hunter however shrugged.
"If we walk away, he dies. We free him, and he'll owe us. Besides, even thieves have honour." He whispered back and then took my torch to burn the man out of his binds.
"Say that to the Gray Fox." Or to any other thief. Unless it was a partnership in crime started over friendship, the odds of not getting sold out or cheated the moment it is profitable to do so are practically zero. It was a waste of breath to convince Faendal however and I stopped trying.


Faendal put the torch to the webbing that held up the cocoon and then the outer layers of the cocoon itself. The silk burned, not quickly, but it burned. It also spread a terrible stench as it did so. The thief fell to the ground and tore off big clumps of silk from himself till all that was left was a thin sheet of the stuff and many small globules.
"Many thanks, friend." He said to Faendal once he'd finished patting himself off. The man had no eye for me and in fact I half-wondered if he'd forgotten entirely I stood a few paces back.
"I suppose that to him Faendal looks like the leader of us two. He is bigger, obviously more used to the outdoors and he killed the spider while I cowered in a corner. Hmm, I wonder if the thief saw that part."


"The claw, please." Faendal asked and held out his hand.
"Yes, the claw. Here!" It was bigger than I'd expected. Bigger and heavier. That much gold was worth a small fortune if melted down. So why hadn't they left the area and done so? The elf kept talking.
"I know how it works. I know everything! Where the treasure is, how to get it! The claw is the key!" And there was my answer. The claw wasn't the goal, but the tool. Even as the dark elf rambled about Nord secrets and whatnot, Faendal turned and walked away. The elf was forced to give chase.
"Hey! Where are you going?" He yelled. Stupid Faendal! Never turn your back on someone you can't trust.
"I don't care for treasure. I only wanted to bring the claw back to Camilla and that is exactly what I'm going to do."


The spider was still where it had fallen, with Faendal's knife between its spread mandibles, his broken bow at its feet and a large pool of venom growing around it. The thief looked at it for a second, his eyes lingering on the weapons and then settled squarely on Faendal's back again.
"You don't care about riches? About the power those Nords have hidden away?!" How could he not notice the anger in the thief's voice? It was so obvious! I listened for Them, but they weren't telling me anything. So either I was wrong, or I was so right I didn't need Them's advice.
"It's right beneath our feet, ripe for the taking! Can't you imagine it? More gold than you can dream off! Power that makes the Jarls quake in their boots!" Power? His right hand went down to his hip and I saw that what had seemed to be a lump of silk was actually a sheathed knife. I was right all along. Not that it made me feel better. I kept my eye on that hand and only that hand.


Faendal stepped through the puddle of venom that dripped from the spider's punctured glands. Then the thief did. Meanwhile, the man from Riverwood rejected the thief's proposition again.
"No. It's worth nothing next to a woman's heart." I didn't even need to be a woman to know how stupid that line sounded coming from him. Given how he clearly was trying to buy one with the stupid claw, what would make a pile of treasure any different? The other elf shook his head and drew.





I put my hand on the dark elf's left shoulder. He turns counterclockwise, the dagger takes the long way around, away from me. Step in close, block his right arm with my left, use my right to slam the palm into his chin and expose the throat. Punch it.


He stumbles back, choking and clutching the wounded throat. There was not enough strength behind that blow to crush his windpipe, but it stunned him and made him drop the knife. It's enough. Get close again, kick the side of his knee, grab his head and drive him down to the floor into the venom. He struggles, but my weight on his back keeps his lips touched to his doom. Bubbles pop with every breath. Soon he grows sluggish, weak and fades away.
"You killed him." No, I haven't. Not yet. He could be faking it so I get off and jump on his neck to finish the job. When it cracks I answer.
"Yes."


I looked at the corpse in wonder. It was the first time in my life that I'd killed anything bigger than a fly. I thought I should feel something. Excitement, pride, relief in the knowledge that this body of mine could do the deed when needed? Disgust perhaps at the stupid greed that had forced my hand? Fear at doing things without knowing what I'm doing until I had done it? But when I looked down at the body I realized I didn't feel anything significant. Not about me and not about the elf. Now that it had stopped breathing it was just meat.
I looked at Faendal who jumped back with the torch. He then stepped aside and stuttered. "Ah, shall we leave? Ladies first."
"Yes."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There had been a change in me. I noticed it while going up. It could just be because I'd been here before, but the disorientating loops in the stone, the open coffins, the whispering air-current, it no longer affected me. But I didn't think it was just familiarity. It was knowing that I could kill threats that gave me confidence. Granted, I still had running away filed away as a preferred course of action but it was now just one option in the bag of tricks instead of the only one.


"Why did you attack him? I just don't get it. We saved his life, you know." Faendal asked me when we neared the top. I could see the glow of the campfire playing off the walls. Why did I? I did it because I would be next and I'd have the greatest chance at killing him while he was focussed on the elf in front of him. Them cut in to tell me that was not an answer Faendal wanted to hear. So I gave him a different one.
"I did it because he was about to put a knife in the back of a lovestruck idealist who couldn't be bribed with the promise of riches." I said without either turning my head or slowing down. Faendal didn't reply.
"And notice how he didn't mention his friends?" I added then, "I bet he planned on killing or swindling them out of their share as well. It happens all the time."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The monster wasn't there when we emerged from the Barrow. But the signs of it having been there were obvious. The watchtower hadn't looked too stable before, but now it was little more than a pile of rubble. The snow around it was simply gone and the few trees that grew up on the mountain had been reduced to charred stumps. There was no sign of the thief's partners. I stepped out into the shade and shivered as the cold wind struck me in the face. Wait, shade? That wasn't right. It had the wrong shape, not like the Barrow's exterior. I spun around and looked up.


It was right above us. I could count the scales it was so close! My breathe froze in my throat and I didn't dare move. The monster had chosen the Barrow as its nest! Its chest, large enough to house a family of six, rose and fell with the sound of a gale. Its wings were folded up beside it, its head tucked under an armpit. I looked at its eyes and dared to breathe again. It was sleeping.
"Would you?" Faendal suddenly piped up. He was still standing inside the door. I didn't pay much attention to him, rather choosing to give the flying beast a good look while I had the chance.
"Would I what?" I mumbled.


It was definitely some sort of lizard, but not coldblooded like the Argonians. If it had been, it wouldn't be up here. Or maybe it was cold-blooded. Since it had an internal furnace to provide warmth it didn't matter much. It was also massive, and its wingspan could cover half of Riverwood if it fully extended its wings. I frowned at that. Sure, it was the biggest bat I'd ever seen, but the wing-to-body ratio was off. Unless it was hollow like a balloon on the inside, those wings could never lift it. It would have to beat like crazy and it hadn't done so either in Helgen or here. And it wasn't hollow either. I remembered how it had smashed through the wall of one of Helgen's towers. If it was hollow, its skull would have crumpled under the impact. The only thing that had crumpled was the tower, not the beast.


"Would you have taken him up on his offer?" Faendal asked again and the part of me that listened realized he was talking about the dark elf. It wasn't entirely invulnerable. There was an arrow stuck in the soft tissue of its throat. But an arrow was like a bee's stinger to it. Irritating but not dangerous. I stepped away from the Barrow slowly, then faster. With the howling of its breath, it wasn't going to hear me unless I screamed. I wasn't going to do that. Confident that talking would not set it off, I finally gave the elf his answer.
"He was a sociopath. You can't trust those." I did not mention that I had been tempted by the 'power' the dark elf mentioned. It was possibly the one thing I wanted most. The power to do what I was born for, the power to remove all my limitations. But I wasn't suicidal. No one would 'hide' a spell tome or enchanted anti-army sword or whatever form this power took, in the most visible and outright noticeable structure around. There had to be traps, or some 'test of character' or something to protect it that wasn't giant spiders. I wasn't going to tangle with it just because a now dead cutthroat had thought it possible. For all I knew, the sleeping giant was one of the Barrow's protectors. I definitely wasn't going to fight that.


Faendal stepped outside and he too, turned and saw the monster. His response was different from mine. Instead of seeing it was asleep, he dove back inside. He whispered a warning or a command to me, but it was lost to the breathing gale. I shook my head.
"It's sleeping. Let's warn Riverwood to stop making light." I told him and walked down the path without looking if he followed. Beneath the mountain the village twinkled like fireflies. Just as pretty, and just as vulnerable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~






OOC: Damsel in distress status, avoided.
Double OOC: If I mentioned the word dragon in this post. Please tell me. She isn't supposed to know yet!

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Mar 24 2013, 10:23 PM

[mALX]

First, I am so sorry it took so long to get here to read. This is only the first chapter, I am not caught up yet.

This has to be the best rendition I've seen of the dragon attacks, the confusion and fear (and love that you gave it your own spin instead of the cart ride)!

Your main character is so intriguing, as is the "Them." I was picturing some long dead person (or god) from TES history that had been brought back to life via necromancy, ROFL!!! (never give me a mystery, I take and run with them, lol).

There was more food in mine

Faendal is a gentleman!

The mating contest, I'm guessing for Camilla? Lol. Or is she Camilla? Love the mystery, I remember the beginning of Redemption where you gave us clues like this and it was always intriguing to figure out who the character was. Awesome Write!

[Elisabeth Hollow]

Did I not respond?! Sorry!! I was gonna say, Faendal has a weird sense of logic. I cam see where it makes sense to HIM, but at the same time... Dude, riches, lol

[mALX]

Caught up!

Well, she is def not Camilla!

"No. It's worth nothing next to a woman's heart." I didn't even need to be a woman to know how stupid that line sounded coming from him. Given how he clearly was trying to buy one with the stupid claw, what would make a pile of treasure any different? The other elf shook his head and drew.

LOVED this!

grab his head and drive him down to the floor into the venom. He struggles, but my weight on his back keeps his lips touched to his doom. Bubbles pop with every breath

Nice kill! I really like "Out of the ordinary" kills!

Its chest, large enough to house a family of six, rose and fell with the sound of a gale. Its wings were folded up beside it, its head tucked under an armpit. I looked at its eyes and dared to breathe again. It was sleeping.

Once again your descriptions of the dragon is Awesome, the best I've ever read in any Skyrim fic!

I didn't see the word "dragon" mentioned - another thing I love about your writing. No one knows what they are seeing, letting you describe it instead, and you absolutely ROCK'D the description!




This post has been edited by mALX: Mar 28 2013, 04:11 PM

[McBadgere]

Just so cool!!...

Confused by the abrupt change in the internal compass, but hey, these things happen!... ...

Nicely done, the avoiding the going right through the Barrow...

I've never seen a dragon up on there meself, but your description was incredible...

Loving this story...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[jack cloudy]

The problem with choosing an action-scene for your opening is that it slows down afterwards. I think I should mention here that my original draft begun in Riverwood before Faendal takes the heroine up the mountain but I decided that was just too boring. Now for a few random things.

Faendal is indeed in a love makes blind mode. But then again, he doesn't exactly have much choice. Everyone else is either married, too young, a dog or Sven's mom. Riverwood doesn't carry many suitors for him.

The mood-change of the nameless protagonist may be more extreme than I had intended. I like to think it is also because she went up by a route she knew was safe (having come down the same way just moments ago). And speaking of which, what is everyone's opinion on my constant switching from past tense to present tense? I personally like it, but all my teachers would have a heart-attack for committing such a great sin.


The barrow I always run through from start to finish in one go. But that is because I'm playing a videogame and confident in the knowledge that as the hero, I can kill a few zombies. That, and no one likes backtracking. But in-character turning around was the only option here.

For Them, I do have a distinct idea for what or who Them is. But I'm not telling yet.

Oh, and we get her name in this update! Rejoice! Time for me to update the character glossary!

Also, expect one of my random rant on things at the end. But first (finally), the update!



Chapter 1.3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



I was kicked out.



I'd felt good when I walked across the bridge into town with Faendal in tow. Tired and cold, but good. That feeling had all but evaporated when I was set back on the road, alone, the following morning. I think they actually blamed me for having the monster roaming their hills. As if I was the reason Helgen was destroyed, and I was the reason it had now come to the Barrow overlooking their homes. Me! If I had the ability to summon things like that, I would have sent them south. There were a lot of people that needed to be eaten over there.


"Helgen, at Barrow." I'd said in the tavern that night. I tried a few more combinations with the words I knew, often including Helgen and flapping my arms for emphasis. Faendal wasn't any help at bringing the message. He was too busy displaying his feathers to his Camilla. Without the elf to give a comprehensible translation, it took me a few tries and it was oddly enough the town drunk who first got it. Maybe all the fuzziness from constant inebriation had made him more accustomed to making sense of things that didn't than everyone else.


Their response had been twofold. First everyone evacuated to the underground mine just south of town. The other had been to push me the other way and demand that I went to another place and get protection for them. Demanding! As if I owed them. How easy it would have been for me to never return and warn the tiny village of the threat. How easy it would have been for me to now ignore their claims of debt. But I didn't for one simple reason.


I had been planning to get out of Riverwood anyway.





For the past month I had been making preparations for crossing the border. We'd tried it before. Me, my brothers and sisters and the director. But men in blue ambushed and killed most of us. Then a legion detachment ambushed the ambush and we were all driven to Helgen. Helgen fell, and I managed to survive and get to riverwood. If any of my kin were still alive, they were scattered. I had to assume I was the last one left and I had to try again, but I couldn't do it alone and I couldn't afford to fail. So I'd been preparing, using up much of the time I had left to maximize my chances. I'd learned the language, though speaking it was still problematic at best and I lost track if people spoke too fast, or were drunk and so on. I'd made stock of local gear and equipment. What I needed now was useable knowledge on the passes to Cyrodiil, its dangers, its defences and how to get by them. Finally I would need help from trustworthy folk who didn't ask questions. All of those were in short supply in Riverwood.


The following morning I was alone in Riverwood. I thought it was odd how no one trusted me enough to hide with in a cave or to even do as much as give me a loaf of bread for on the road, yet still left me all alone with their homes. It made me angry. The least they could have done was make sure I wouldn't starve.


I eased up my frustrations by taking the things they'd refused to offer myself. Things they wouldn't miss, hopefully. In a few minutes I fashioned a sword at the smithy. Not a good one. Just a strip of iron, not even sharpened or tempered in any way, wrapped with leather at one end to form the hilt. After that I went to the store. The door was locked however and I had no picks, which was a slight setback. But only a slight one. I had helped the blacksmith to make and install the lock so I knew it was a good one. But the windows were only kept by an old latch that kept falling off out of misery. I went around the back, gave a good rap to the frame and shimmied through.

There were a few things in the town's store that were of interest to me. Riverwood was at its core a rest stop for travellers. To call it a town as everyone did, was a bit of an exaggeration. It held a tavern, the store and the smithy. In total, there were just over a slight dozen people. I'd seen houses that kept more. In any case, I took a few old spell tomes from where they'd collected dust for years. I couldn't read them but if I couldn't make it to Cyrodiil in time, having some means of obtaining magic would be good. I also hooked a pair of torches, a small axe and pickaxe and a bedroll to my backpack. I took an empty journal and some charcoal for notekeeping. A piece of flint for making fire and finally a map and a compass. I boiled some potatoes from the tavern and for a moment considered checking the private rooms for the good stuff. The serving woman had hands none of the other women had in Riverwood. They were a man's hands, with the calluses and scars of armour and battle. And her eyes were haunted like a rabbit in a snare. It was a combination that made me nervous. I decided to leave her things alone in case she might desire retribution for taking them. But I kept the potatoes and a flask of mead.


Now I was as prepared as I could be so I went back out the window and across the bridge out of town.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



The place they wanted me to go to was called Whiterun and according to the townsfolk it was the county's capital. I hadn't been given any good directions to it other than follow the road and river, but the map I now possessed put it at just four, maybe five hours north from Riverwood. It also seemed to be covered to the north by a mountain range which would funnel most travelers in southern Skyrim through it at some point. Which suited me well. It meant the city was a commerce hub and held everything I was looking for.


The path split just after the bridge north of town. The day before Faendal had taken me west up the mountain, but today I followed the other side that winded down alongside the river. The journey was uneventful apart from one tense encounter with a wolf. Wolves are clever and capable hunters, but this one was alone and not hungry enough to risk a human. We locked eyes for a moment and it bounced away. I went on my way and soon got my first glimpse of the city.


I was still a few hours from actually reaching it, but while descending from the mountainside I could make a first impression. The city was surrounded by farmland. Actual farms, not the little backyards everyone kept in their not-a-town Riverwood. It was also fortified by stone walls and towers, the signs of old civilized cities everywhere. But these walls were battered and the towers were crumbling. I didn't make out any big fires, but it was obvious Whiterun had seen a siege. Whether it was one or multiples I couldn't tell, but the repairs were made of wood, which suggested it hadn't been too long ago. I decided to take a break then and eat my potatoes while I observed. I looked for military movements, but didn't make out any. There were no troops gathering either within Whiterun or outside. Maybe to the north, but that would put them up with the mountain on their backs. Good for defensive desperation, but not for an attacking army with needs for open supply-lines.


The farmers were working their lands and the fields looked mostly undisturbed which convinced me that the siege had been a few months ago at the least, probably longer than that. I wrapped up the last potato and continued my journey, down and following the road north and west till I got to the main gate. There I found the gates to be closed, which told me that though there was no siege in progress, the city wasn't in full peace-time either. I gave the guards a letter written by Lucan Valerius, who owned the store in Riverwood.


"Oh. Yes. Brother, you should read this." One guard said to the other. They traded the letter among each other as I studied them. Chain, a yellow scarf and conical helmet. A simple sword at their side. They had no shield to match the one-handed sword, for that would get in the way of their duties in processing travellers like me. But their bare arms were scarred and I saw repaired links in their armour so they weren't mere decoration-troops either. Not like the ones the emperor employs, with their medals and gems and noble blood.
"Hmm, Irileth would use it to rail against the steward again. I have little wish to find her in a sour mood tonight." The other said and shook his head.
"Still, it is not for us to decide in matters like these. You'd best take her up to Dragonsreach, brother. Foreigner like this could get lost or stopped by Imperial rules if you'd not."
"Aye."


They gave me back the letter, then one led me through a smaller door made in the gates themselves and into Whiterun. Instantly I saw that Whiterun was a much better place than Riverwood. The buildings were of stone, people came and went in chaotic activity. A legionnaire bartered with a smith right beside the gates. Strange that, I hadn't seen any Imperial troops since Helgen and Whiterun's guards wore yellow. There was just the one. Maybe he bought here but wanted his arms shipped elsewhere.


The Whiterun guide turned left passed a barracks and up steep stairs to a large keep that towered over the rest of the city. Water flowed down from it in ways reminiscent of Vivec. There underground fire boiled water, made it rise as steam to be caught in a basin and flow down from the temples. A similar method had to be employed here. We went beneath arches carved with skulls eerily similar to the ones in the Barrow and into the keep itself, to the throne-room where there sat a man, one hand resting upon the armrest of his throne, the other on the handle of the axe he balanced beside it. He was flanked by a dark elf in ancient glass and a bald Imperial in rich garb who read to him from a scroll and made notes of whatever the man said.

"Jarl Balgruuf." The Whiterun guard said to the man on the throne and went down on his knee. He removed his helmet to reveal a young head with short-cropped blonde hair and the whispy trailings of a virginal beard on his cheeks. I followed his lead, aware that not doing so could be a breach of protocol. Insulting the local ruler within the hour of entering the city would be unwise. The man, the Jarl I corrected myself, nodded and acknowledged his presence. The bald man rolled up his scroll and took a fresh one while the dark elf inspected me the same way I had inspected the gate guards.
"I present to you Spar the Imperial. From Helgen."


"Return to your post, my loyal guard. You have done well in bringing her here." The Jarl answered. My guide put his fist to his heart, rose and left. The Jarl continued, talking to me in fluid Cyrodiilic, something for which I was grateful and aware that as Jarl, it had been his right to demand us converse in Skyrim or with the aid of a translator.
"Rise, Spar. You are not the first survivor to come to my hold and I hope you are not the last. I have questions to ask you, but first I would know what is in that letter you hold."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~





Rant on everything and nothing incoming!

Now usually I talk about things that don't make sense to me here. So I'll get that out of the way. Namely the waterfalls of Dragonsreach. Pretty, but water doesn't work that way. At least not in such large quantities. My personal fan-theory is that there is a dragon trapped beneath it (hey, they do say that's why Dragonsreach was built!) and its fire keeps turning an underground well to steam, make it rise and condense etc.

Now for everything else.

The first draft for this update held a lot more dialogue. Most notably, it had things like Alvor thinking Spar is aiming for Faendal ("Just because the elf likes one set of Imperial hips, doesn't mean he likes them all!"), and Sigrid manipulating him into sending Spar to Whiterun. Why? Because Sigrid doesn't like having other women near him. No seriously, that's something in the game. Oh, I also had Sigrid planned as pregnant because as much as I dislike the Skyrim kids for being nasty mind-controlling elitist brats, just one per couple is too few. Gotta keep the population up somehow. Just lie back and think of Skyrim.


But I changed that because it felt like it didn't go anywhere or do anything important for the story.

Admittedly I wrote myself into trouble with Riverwood. In the game dragons just vanish after Helgen, until you complete the Whiterun plotline. But since I had it stick around (probably hunting Helgen's surroundings for a month till it went north for fresher prey) I had to come up with a response to it. So I had everyone run to Embershard mine (bandit-free cause Alvor must get his iron from somewhere and not every cave has to hold hostiles) to hide for a while until they get some guards. And speaking of guards? Why aren't there any in Riverwood in the first place? I have a theory on that which I'll work into the story.


Now, Whiterun. I like the look of Whiterun. When you first get there, there is no siege going on but it is obvious that the city has seen better days. And it is placed in a strategic position which does make it critical for the Imperials and the Stormcloaks. And finally, there is also a very good reason why Balgruuf is so desperate to stay neutral. Good job, Skyrim team. Good job.


Also, I should probably finish the game instead of buggering off on after the Whiterun plot.

This post has been edited by jack cloudy: Apr 19 2013, 01:49 PM

[McBadgere]

The first draft for this update held a lot more dialogue...

But I changed that because it felt like it didn't go anywhere or do anything important for the story.

Personally speaking, if I had more time, I would gladly go through your other writings as I enjoy it very much...So I feel somewhat sad that you chose to remove what sounds like some beautiful "colour" painting...What you described sounds like it could have been cool...

Maybe it didn't do much for the story per se, but so what?...I'm not in any rush... ...The odd scene here and there isn't going to slow it up too much at all...

Anyways, to what we did get... ...

I thought it was brilliant that she couldn't get understood by the locals!!...I laughed when I read that...Nice one!.. ...

That she managed to work with Alvor for so long is cool though...But then had to resort to stealing in order to get what she needed...Shame, but necessary if Spar (cool name!) was to get her job done...

Nicely done with the Whiterun description...Brilliant stuff...

Oh, the Dragonsreach rant...I think you're thinking too much into it...Besides, I always assumed it was plate pressure forcing it upwards at a rate of hundreds of gallons...

Maybe that's how the Companions got that long boat so far away from any other decent sized river... ...

Anyways, loved it all...Brilliant stuff...

Stop taking stuff away!!...Some of us might appreciate it... ...

Nice one!!...

*Applauds heartily*...

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

Just started reading this, as I am new to the site. So, I love that the story starts in Bleak Falls Barrow with Faendal and a companion going for the claw. I can't wait to find out who "Them" is/are. Very interesting read that will compell me to read further.

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

Just finished the second installment ( 1.2 ? ). I like the fact the Faendal didn't complete the journey into the barrow. As a game player, I have also always cleared the entire dungeon. But the game (and perhaps a later chapter of this story) offers a chance for a trip back in the service of a certain Jarl's court wizard.

Fun stuff!

[ThatSkyrimGuy]

And now I have read the rest. All in all, I do like the approach. Not starting in Helgen, the heroine being a Dunmer Imperial, and especially the touch on a language barrier. That thought had never occurred to me. I had always played, and therefore assumed, that all of Tamriel had "a common tongue" that was spoken by all its inhabitants from birth, in addition to their native languages. Removing that is an interesting concept. Lastly, my take on the waters of Dragonreach was a mountain spring. With so many mountains nearby, and the neighboring hold of Eastmarch being highly volcanic, it makes sense.

It's good that I got to start a story from the beginning and I'll definitely follow this one.

[mALX]

Faendal is indeed in a love makes blind mode. But then again, he doesn't exactly have much choice. Everyone else is either married, too young, a dog or Sven's mom. Riverwood doesn't carry many suitors for him.

ROFL!

The mood-change of the nameless protagonist may be more extreme than I had intended. I like to think it is also because she went up by a route she knew was safe.

You know, being female I didn't notice the mood change as anything out of the ordinary. We do have a tendency to flip moods readily and without warning, as anyone who has been married to a female can testify to. It felt very natural to me, I didn't find it extreme at all (maybe a little - but it felt very believable to me).

And speaking of which, what is everyone's opinion on my constant switching from past tense to present tense? I personally like it, but all my teachers would have a heart-attack for committing such a great sin.

Flipping tenses can be jarring to the reader, especially if they are immersed in a scene and then suddenly - "GAAAAH! What's going on, did I miss something?" *goes back and rereads section*

That said, if you have a good reason to do it then carry on. In these beginning chapters I've been re-reading a lot anyway to try and guess at the identity of the female Elf and "Them"

My guess: Is it Latta? If I'm right, WOO HOO !!!!!

"Helgen, at Barrow." I'd said in the tavern that night. I tried a few more combinations with the words I knew, often including Helgen and flapping my arms for emphasis. Faendal wasn't any help at bringing the message. He was too busy displaying his feathers to his Camilla. Without the elf to give a comprehensible translation, it took me a few tries and it was oddly enough the town drunk who first got it. Maybe all the fuzziness from constant inebriation had made him more accustomed to making sense of things that didn't than everyone else.

LOVE this! How real is that, not to find someone to understand you when it is important - Love that! Absolutely perfect detail!

Oh, I was wrong about it being Latta I see, lol. How is it they couldn't understand an Imperial? Ah, I see - Cyrodiilic! Nice touch!

Rant:

You are absolutely right about Sigrid being jealous over other women being around her husband, and not just Sigrid but Gerdur too! Poor Maxical got a tirade from both, and decided not to sleep under the Smithy's roof - afraid a dagger may find her in her sleep, lol.

I would have loved that little side jaunt and personal touch had you left it in, but (as you know) I have a terrible weakness for leaving those little interesting jaunts in my story till it pulls away from the focus and forward momentum of the plot. I'm glad you told us about it in the rant though, I got a big kick out of just reading that and had an instant memory of what happened to Maxical in Riverwood. I love those kind of things a little too much probably, lol.

As always, an Awesome Write! Can't wait to see what your creative mind brings to Skyrim!


*

[jack cloudy]

Dangit guys, stop bringing logic in here! Let me keep my fantasy of hardcore Nords headbutting dragons and putting them into cages so they can have pretty fountains.


Anyhow, a big welcome to that guy from Skyrim and for Mcbadgere and other dialogue-lovers I can assure you that today will be all talk again. (and the next part, and the part after that probably.)

The language was actually a random leftover from Spar's predecessor. Before I'd settled on the kind of character I wanted to go with, I used a template. Now the template wasn't from Skyrim, or the TES universe for that matter. So the language barrier fit there. And I think it still fits with Spar. Half the Nords in Skyrim are open about how Skyrim is not Cyrodiil and this is the land of hard men, isolated towns with a different culture etc. I figured that apart from the big cities and upper class, most would stick to the old dialects and Skyrimese or whatever it's called.


The tense-swapping I try to keep under control. Right now they solely serve to differentiate regular Spar from murder-mode Spar. So big paragraphs of present tense means something is going to die. Probably.

And finally, today we continue to follow the Helgen plotline rigidly. Until I find a good jumping point, I'm afraid this will remain a 'me-in-the-game' fic.






Chapter 1.4


The dark elf came down the stairs that led up to the throne and snatched the letter from my hands. She tore the envelope, crumpled and spread the paper with a snap. She ripped away the corners of the paper and rubbed the ink with a finger, all while I watched. Only after she'd convinced herself there was no poison did she go back up the stairs and present the letter to her lord after which she returned to watching me. Balgruuf read it in silence, then handed it to the bald man in turn.


"I take it this Valerius is known to you, Jarl?" The scribe said after a while.
"Yes," The Jarl nodded, "Lucan Valerius is a brave man, whom I have been indebted to for many years. I won't deny him." He said. The bald one shook his head and gestured with his hand. He objected to his Jarl's decision. I watched the exchange with great interest, for it was a textbook example of the kind of situation that could show what sort of man Jarl Balgruuf was. Would he accept his advisor's counterargument, reason with him, or dismiss him out of a sense of authority-based infallibility? I was so focussed on it that when heavy bootsteps approached from behind, I almost missed them.
"A debt of honour must never be left unpaid."


I turned to the voice, aware that what I did would be considered insulting to some. But my instinct was never to let someone to stand behind me without knowing who it was and what threat he or she presented. Who I saw was another bald man, yet as different from the scribe as night was from day. He was big, and not just the portly kind of big Riverwood's smith possessed. Where the scribe was a thin man in rich dress, this was a hulking barbarian from the woods, dressed like a bandit and with a face covered in dried blood. The kind of man who wrestled bears. Actually, he had scars on him that I identified with bear attacks. So maybe he did wrestle bears. I took a step back from him, towards the throne. Where I was now was uncomfortable enough that Them spoke up. Them told me to get away, out from between the dark elf on one side and this brute on the other. But then Them told me to stay put instead. It was too far to the door, with too many guards. And I had not given the Jarl any reason to harm me. I was just the messenger after all, and so far the response hadn't been negative.


"Lucan Valerius has asked for your honour." The bandit spoke boldly. He used no honorifics and addressed Balgruuf as an equal, something I took note of. Even moreso when no one acted like it was strange or inappropriate for him to do so. "And he shall have it."
"Hrongar," The scribe said and tapped the letter with his hand. "it is not that I disagree, but what he asks presents a problem. Moving military troops is not something to be done on a whim. Especially not in these times."


So the big man's name was Hrongar. I memorized it, along with everything else I noted about him. The blood was actually just paint, and the baldness the result of a military shave rather than natural hairloss. He was a man accustomed to wearing a helmet, or one who denied his enemy a grabbing point. In either case, he was a fighter. As if his build and scars hadn't told me that already. Perhaps more interesting was his beard which did present a grabbing point, invalidating my assessment regarding his hair. But more importantly, it was the same style as the Jarl's and I saw a resemblance in his features. Where they kin perhaps? It would explain his unpunished bluntness.




The steward and Hrongar continued to argue and their voices became more heated as the exchange went on. But when it looked like they would come to blow, something which disadvantaged the scribe, the Jarl softly said something.
"I have made my decision." And both ceased instantly.


"Valerius calls to me for guards to protect his home and I hear him." Jarl Balgruuf continued. But the steward hadn't said his last and repeated the argument he'd used against Hrongar.
"I must protest! The Jarl of Falkreath will see this as a provocation. He'll believe we have joined under the banner of Ulfric Stormcloak and are preparing to attack his hold." I took note at the mention of general Stormcloak and this other Jarl. If general Stormcloak was fighting against someone in Skyrim, the ruler of a county even, then that meant this Jarl of Falkreath was a rebel. Someone who thought the empire was weakened from fighting the Dominion and thought he could secede.
"He's right. The empire has seen better days. But still, we can take back one city from a wannabe king." I thought to myself. The Jarl seemed to have a similarly low opinion of his Falkreath colleague.
"Three men, Proventius." The scribe was Proventius, one more piece of information. "If Sidgeir is afraid of three men, he should lay off the milk. We have humoured his paranoia by depriving Riverwood of its protection, but that ends today. May Sovngarde turn him away!"


Proventius accepted his master's decision and Hrongar returned to the longtable without another word where he had been eating a roasted pig all by himself. The Jarl meanwhile turned his attention to the dark elf who he addressed.
"Irileth, contact the commander of the guard later and have it arranged. And remind them to take the townspeople to safety if there is an attack. That foul beast has already burned down one hold and till we know how to kill it, we don't need heroics."


Everything else taken care of, there was only me left.
"Now, Spar the Imperial."


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~


"You possess no kin here, no lands and no stock. You are as Ysgramor was when he first set foot upon Skyrim." I cursed the lack of a Nord among Them. It felt as if I was missing something. Who was Ysgramor, some hero of legend, or simply his floorsweeper?
"I am, Jarl." I answered. It seemed the safest thing to say.
"As my brother said earlier," So Hrongar was kin it seemed. "debts of honour must be repaid. It is such a debt that Lucan Valerius holds over me and by extension, as the bearer of his word, it is such a debt you hold over me. I can take you into my service, give you a place of shelter against the cold nights. Would you swear loyalty to me and become one of Whiterun?"


It was tempting to say yes. If only to have a base of operations and a place to catch the valuable gossip. After all, when it was time I could just leave. By the time the Jarl found out and ordered pursuit, if he ordered one, the woman he sought would no longer exist. But Them decided it was too risky. It would be better to work from a lower place than act on the assumption the Jarl was incompetent or lenient.
"I'm sorry, but I cannot. My place is in Cyrodiil and I aim to go there as soon as possible."


"You are honest." The Jarl said and he actually sounded surprised. "Many today would not have been when asked this question."




"Honesty deserves honesty. I am afraid that you will be waiting till the end of this war. That is the unfortunate truth of Skyrim." War? Was the Dominion on the offensive again? I rejected the idea. If the Thalmor and their lackeys were on the move again, all of the troops the empire could muster would have marched south. They would not be hanging out in the northern Jeralls to rescue random travellers. Though there was the matter of the Nords in blue. They had been too similarly dressed and uninterested in the contents of our bags to be a mere bandit gang. Did they belong to the Falkreath rebel? But one city was not enough to bother the legion. Just send in the Penitus Oculatus and convince the Jarl that he really preferred to be a loyal subject of the empire. I could guess, but what I really needed was solid information.
"Forgive me for asking, but what war do you speak of?"


"Why, the war between the Empire and Ulfric Stormcloak of course. You haven't heard of it?" Balgruuf exclaimed and I could feel my blood freeze in shock. It wasn't my shock however, but Them's. Stormcloak was a traitor? Impossible, Them said. He couldn't be. I'd fought on his side for years. We'd held the line against the wild hunt, we'd broken the caravans of Elsweyr, we'd killed Bodeth the necromancer together! He couldn't be a traitor! He just couldn't!


"The general Stormcloak?" I asked the Jarl. What if he was? I had to know. "But he fought at the battle of the red ring. Why change sides now?" It had possibly been the greatest conflict of the era, even if it reeked from all angles. It had been the first time the empire acted in an actual organized counteroffensive against the Aldmeri Dominion which up till that point had been allowed to stroll and claim half Tamriel without anyone batting as much as an eyelid. Not that it had been easy. We beat the Thalmor and their slaves back, but our own forces were little more than a number written on paper at the end. Of the survivors most suffered from lasting injuries from spells, tainted blades and fallen debris. I remembered how one lost three limbs from a series of tiny scratches that were infected with something the healers couldn't cure.


But in any case, those who had taken part in the fighting and seen it through to the end were one and all possessed of the ideal of the empire. They didn't, couldn't, seek ambitions of their own that ran counter to the emperor's good. Because if you did, then why would you stick around in the first place? Slipping away in the chaos was easy, just watching from the sidelines and waiting to see who would win even easier. Killing the emperor would have been child's play after the battle and provide just the kind of chaos a rebel would need to consolidate his own territory undisturbed afterward. But none of that had happened. No one had tried to kill Emperor Mede, not even the Thalmor. And most important of all, I knew general Stormcloak. He was a man who valued loyalty above everything else. General Stormcloak wasn't the kind of man to rebel. He was too honourable and stupid for it.


Thinking of it, that would explain why he hadn't prevented an imperial counter before declaring his independence and throwing all his oaths away. But that got into assuming incompetence again.


"Aye, that's the one. He believes that the treaty with the Aldmeri Dominion was a betrayal and that Skyrim is better off on its own. The Empire cannot allow another province to secede, especially not through the open rebellion of one of her top generals. Until the matter is resolved, Emperor Mede has ordered all passes to and from Skyrim closed off and guarded." That explained why the legion was so quick to assist when we got jumped by the blue ones. By general Stormcloak's men. I do think he wore a blue scarf around his arm back at red ring.
"Until the end of the war." I said. It explained a lot, but was all bad news as well. The empire didn't have the time or the means to stomp out a rebellion. Not one lead by a man as charismatic and capable as general Stormcloak.


"Indeed. Unfortunately, winter is coming, a bad time for warfare. I anticipate that neither side will make a move before summer when foodstocks are high again."


My mind was pushed into a full run. In winter, braving the passes would be too dangerous even if they weren't locked down. There would be biting cold winds that could strip the flesh from bone. There would be the frost trolls, wraiths, avalanches, the cold and more complications than I could count. There was of course the ancient path that led through Ysmir's tongue, but that was suicide at all times of the year without a guide. So I would have to wait for spring. But that meant I would be too late. Arkarik would be long gone by then. Where to, we couldn't predict. And without him, I had no business in Cyrodiil. I had no business existing even.


For a moment my mind blanked. No purpose, no goals, nothing. I could just sit down and die just like that. It wouldn't make a difference. Actually, it would be better. Crawl into some dark hole and vanish from the world instead of risking failure and detection. But I wasn't going to do that. All my planning, all my efforts, I wasn't willing to let it end like that. I pushed away the suicidal thoughts Them forced on me and ordered them to give me something to live for instead. A shift of purpose, a new start, a refocusing on the total rather than my small part in it. Something, anything. I needed time to think now, but that was the one thing I had in abundance.


Only a few seconds had passed. I looked up at the Jarl and raised a hand.
"Jarl Balgruuf," I said to him, "you offered me a place in your hold. Would it be acceptable for me to take that offer and pledge myself to your service until the end of this war regardless of its outcome?" There was an element of risk in serving the Jarl. General Stormcloak's rebellion could attack Whiterun, or the legion could seek to claim it to secure its own position. I hadn't seen any signs of which side the Jarl was affiliated with at the moment, now that I thought about it. No blue, but no legion red either. There was risk, but I thought it was acceptable. My life was after all no longer required. Only, preferable? The thought was strange, but felt right. Yes, I definitely preferred to live.


"When I make a promise, I do not withdraw it easily. If you must wait, there are worse places than Dragonsreach. You could join the general staff here, clean and cook, deliver messages and carry paperwork." The Jarl told me.
"Or she could be of use in a different way." The dark elf suddenly said. It was the first time I'd seen her open her mouth but her voice told me what I'd already suspected from the armour. That ashbitten husk couldn't be from anywhere else. She was a Vvardenfell native, an old one. I focussed my attention on the glass for a moment and reaffirmed my suspicions. The armour was rough, shards of raw glass melted into steel like uncut gemstones stuck in wax. That kind of improvisation hadn't been necessary since the end of the third era. When the Maormer sold their secrets of working glass to the last emperor of the Septim dynasty. And the armour she wore was made for her, it had never been readjusted for a new owner. This woman was old, raised in a hostile land and had clearly spent her life learning how to kill people. That made her dangerous and all the attention she'd focussed on me so far more than threatening.


Balgruuf waved me to follow him as he rose from his throne and walked down the hall. The steward and the dark elf both moved to follow, but another wave told them to stay.
"Please walk with me."






Rant-time: Just one element and I admit that I'm nitpicking. Remember in the tutorial, how Hadvar hopes that the Stormcloaks are taken to Sovngarde by the dragon? Going by context and tone of voice, I think he's saying the Tamriel equivalent of "Go to hell!" But there is one problem with this.

Sovngarde is Valhalla, Nord heaven. Yeah, saying "Go to the eternal paradise of fun and plenty." doesn't exactly work as far as curses go. Henceforth, I hereby have my Nords say "May Sovngarde turn you away."