I am at a crossroads. This world doesn't understand me, and the feeling is mutual. I don't know which way to turn or which side I am on.
This time, it began in Bruma. I'd been following a lead to some treasure, when it became clear that my contact, Jorundr, wouldn't trust anyone on the opposite side of the bars. In order to gain his confidence, I made an intentionally clumsy attempt to pick the lock of Jorundr's cell right in front of the guard.
A few minutes later, I was sharing Jorundr's cell, and with a bit of persuasion I had pried the location of the loot out of him. Resigning myself to serving out the rest of my short sentence, I laid down on the cell's sparse floor to sleep.
I awoke, bound at the wrists and huddled in the back of a wagon with several other prisoners, and Jorundr nowhere to be seen. I blearily perceived a man in the back of the wagon bemoaning his fate and professing his innocence.
"Wha - where are we?" I mumbled as the wagon bumped across a rutted dirt track.
"About time you woke up, friend," said the man across from me, "They caught you trying to sneak across the border. We're headed for Helgen..."
He was interrupted by a curt shout from the guard driving the wagon, "Quiet, prisoners!"
The border? Obviously I was in southern Skyrim. There's no forgetting the clean, crisp skies of my homeland. Not terribly far from Bruma, but in all reality I may as well have been in Oblivion and my gear in Nirn, for the Jerall mountains are nearly impassible this time of year.
As we pulled through the gates of a town that must have been Helgen, the wagon stopped and an Imperial soldier with a clear Nordic accent called us to step out. As we did so, the "innocent" prisoner made a break for freedom and was quickly shot down in his tracks by a sinister-looking hooded Altmer. The rest maintained composure and stepped up as the soldier called our names.
I watched as the first head was removed, then it was my turn. Although I had been thrust into this situation without preparation, I had no protection from the arrows, so I decided not to run.
Just as I lay my head on the block a piercing screech rent the air. The headsman turned, slightly, and was instantly knocked to the ground by a falling stone. A gigantic beast erupted through the wall of the keep before me.
I stood and ran. The courtyard was a chaos of bodies, some fleeing, some dying. Eventually I followed the same soldier who called us down from the wagon into a section of the keep that still stood.
"I'm Hadvar," he said, "Take this gear and help me get out of here. Someone has to warn the Hold."
Still confused, I followed. Eventually we ended up in a village called Riverwood, and Hadvar introduced me to his uncle, Alvor, to whom I related my confusion as to my present surroundings.
Alvor, in a state of sheer disbelief, brought me up to speed on the situation: Stormcloaks, Thalmor, and a reduced Empire without a descendant of Talos.
I'm standing outside Alvor's house, finally back in my homeland and yet somehow, a world apart. Two hundred years separate me from my service to the late Emperor Uriel and his heroic son Martin.
When I ask myself, Imperial or Stormcloak, I feel a sense of longing for the security of the Septim Emperors and disgust at the depths to which my homeland has sunk.
I step from the shelter of Alvor's porch and begin walking. What future I walk toward, I do not know.
I'm beginning to get my bearings in this new Tamriel. I spent the first day learning the lay of the land, and the second trekking to the nearest city, Whiterun. The Jarl lives in a castle called Dragonsreach, located high on a hill at the north end of the city. I made my way past the guard at the door, who let me in only after I mentioned the dragon that had leveled Helgen.
I walked through the main hall into a large and uncharacteristically warm space. At the far end a proud-looking man sat uneasily on the edge of a throne, listening to a strident argument between a balding Imperial man and an armored Dunmer woman before him. As I approached, the Dunmer interrupted the Imperial's protest - something about dragons being dead for centuries - and rushed to block my path. Her hand was on the hilt of her sword and an inch of steel was free of the scabbard, instantly earning my respect.
"The Jarl is not having any audience today, stranger," she stated, "we're having an important meeting here, so you'd best be on your way."
I replied, using the common honorific of her people, "That's why I've come here, sera. I come before the Jarl with news of Helgen, and the dragon that destroyed it."
"What use is your hearsay?"
"I was in Helgen when it happened. I barely escaped with my life."
The Jarl stood. "Thank you, Irileth. Please let the stranger speak."
I related the fate of Helgen, much to the chagrin of the Imperial. As I spoke, the corners of Irileth's lips curled up in a barely perceptible grin.
"Farengar! Come over here and speak with our visitor," the Jarl called out to the robed man who was poring over a book near the corner of the room. "Farengar is my court wizard," he added for my benefit.
The man approached. Through the robe's hood I could see a drawn face and suspicious eyes. I immediately disliked Farengar, but at the Jarl's urging I related my story to him.
"I suspected as much," he stated. "The dragons are returning, as was foretold. I wonder if you might do me a favor and assist in my research. There is a tablet, located in a ruin nearby, but it is far beneath my station to go searching for it. I wonder if you might retrieve it for me?"
His request stirred my memory. During my previous day's travels, I had visited a nearby ruin and discovered an oddly shaped stone near a wall that had nearly blinded me with its magical energy. I pulled the stone from my pack.
"Oh, could you mean this old thing?" I asked innocently.
"The Dragon Tablet!" Farengar's tone had taken on a slightly less condescending note, "You are a handy one, aren't you?"
Just then a guard breathlessly burst into the great hall. "The Western watch tower is under attack! It's a dragon!"
Immediately Irileth began rounding up the castle guards. As she did so, the Jarl asked me to accompany her. "Since you know more about these dragons than anyone else, perhaps you can assist Irileth."
Along with four Whiterun soldiers, I followed Irileth through town, out the gate and down a path to a blackened and burning stone tower. A wounded soldier knelt on the steps of the tower. "Stop, it's still around here somewhere!" he shouted.
As he spoke I heard a sound like wind and the sky darkened briefly. A dragon circled overhead.
We drew our bows and loosed several volleys at the beast. Suddenly, the dragon's flight transformed into a dive. The ground shook as the massive creature slammed into the ground before us. Its wings flapped backward as tongues of flame lashed out of its mouth toward us.
I quickly readied my only healing spell and cast it on myself. As my Magicka drained I could feel that I wasn't keeping up. My armor felt hot enough to sear a boar steak and my skin began to singe and blacken. Just then, the dragon seemed to run out of steam. I rushed forward beneath its jaws and somehow, almost by luck, placed my sword point perfectly through its neck.
That's when it happened. The beast crashed to the ground before me and a wind rose from the dragon's corpse straight into me. When it was done nothing remained of the dragon but bone and ash.
It felt strange, and yet powerful all at the same time.
Then, unbidden, the image of the strange magical wall I had visited the previous day was all I could see. There, in the center, a runic word glowed as the rest of the image blurred away.
"FUS!" the word burst from my lips, gutturally, like that first unfortunate turn of the stomach after a night of overindulgence in Cyrodillic Brandy. As I spoke it, I could feel the force it made as the sound left my body.
The nearest soldier dropped his jaw in shock. "Dovahkiin! Dragon-born!" he shouted.
I don't truly understand what just happened, but my new reality just got very interesting, very quickly.
After watching a beheading and wandering about town, two quests in my quest log said I had to visit Jarl Elisif. Turns out the court is full of Imperial bootlickers.
After watching the brief exchange where someone was pleading with Elisif for help, I walked up to her and started asking questions. She gave a sob story about how her husband had been shouted to death by Ulfric Stormcloak.
I decided to be cheeky, and demonstrate my Dovahkiin abilities for Elisif, much as I had for the Greybeards.
As it turns out, using a Dragon Shout on Elisif is not considered a friendly act. The Jarl bolted and the rest of her court attacked me all at once. I wasn't wearing any armor since I had the Radient Raiment clothes on for that quest, and it wasn't very long before I got the nice third person view of my character slumped dead in the throne of Solitude.
They apparently don't take kindly to shouting all the food off the table in Dragonsreach, either. Guess I'd probably try to stab somebody that sent my roast flying, too.
Well I was walking down the road from Whiterun to the Throat of the World (past the meadery) after fighting both a giant and a mammoth. I thought to myself "well my health is low, I better save now or else-" then BAM a dragon lands in front of me, chomps down on me, shook me like a dog shakes a toy, then tossed me aside.
Comments
This time, it began in Bruma. I'd been following a lead to some treasure, when it became clear that my contact, Jorundr, wouldn't trust anyone on the opposite side of the bars. In order to gain his confidence, I made an intentionally clumsy attempt to pick the lock of Jorundr's cell right in front of the guard.
A few minutes later, I was sharing Jorundr's cell, and with a bit of persuasion I had pried the location of the loot out of him. Resigning myself to serving out the rest of my short sentence, I laid down on the cell's sparse floor to sleep.
I awoke, bound at the wrists and huddled in the back of a wagon with several other prisoners, and Jorundr nowhere to be seen. I blearily perceived a man in the back of the wagon bemoaning his fate and professing his innocence.
"Wha - where are we?" I mumbled as the wagon bumped across a rutted dirt track.
"About time you woke up, friend," said the man across from me, "They caught you trying to sneak across the border. We're headed for Helgen..."
He was interrupted by a curt shout from the guard driving the wagon, "Quiet, prisoners!"
The border? Obviously I was in southern Skyrim. There's no forgetting the clean, crisp skies of my homeland. Not terribly far from Bruma, but in all reality I may as well have been in Oblivion and my gear in Nirn, for the Jerall mountains are nearly impassible this time of year.
As we pulled through the gates of a town that must have been Helgen, the wagon stopped and an Imperial soldier with a clear Nordic accent called us to step out. As we did so, the "innocent" prisoner made a break for freedom and was quickly shot down in his tracks by a sinister-looking hooded Altmer. The rest maintained composure and stepped up as the soldier called our names.
I watched as the first head was removed, then it was my turn. Although I had been thrust into this situation without preparation, I had no protection from the arrows, so I decided not to run.
Just as I lay my head on the block a piercing screech rent the air. The headsman turned, slightly, and was instantly knocked to the ground by a falling stone. A gigantic beast erupted through the wall of the keep before me.
I stood and ran. The courtyard was a chaos of bodies, some fleeing, some dying. Eventually I followed the same soldier who called us down from the wagon into a section of the keep that still stood.
"I'm Hadvar," he said, "Take this gear and help me get out of here. Someone has to warn the Hold."
Still confused, I followed. Eventually we ended up in a village called Riverwood, and Hadvar introduced me to his uncle, Alvor, to whom I related my confusion as to my present surroundings.
Alvor, in a state of sheer disbelief, brought me up to speed on the situation: Stormcloaks, Thalmor, and a reduced Empire without a descendant of Talos.
I'm standing outside Alvor's house, finally back in my homeland and yet somehow, a world apart. Two hundred years separate me from my service to the late Emperor Uriel and his heroic son Martin.
When I ask myself, Imperial or Stormcloak, I feel a sense of longing for the security of the Septim Emperors and disgust at the depths to which my homeland has sunk.
I step from the shelter of Alvor's porch and begin walking. What future I walk toward, I do not know.
I walked through the main hall into a large and uncharacteristically warm space. At the far end a proud-looking man sat uneasily on the edge of a throne, listening to a strident argument between a balding Imperial man and an armored Dunmer woman before him. As I approached, the Dunmer interrupted the Imperial's protest - something about dragons being dead for centuries - and rushed to block my path. Her hand was on the hilt of her sword and an inch of steel was free of the scabbard, instantly earning my respect.
"The Jarl is not having any audience today, stranger," she stated, "we're having an important meeting here, so you'd best be on your way."
I replied, using the common honorific of her people, "That's why I've come here, sera. I come before the Jarl with news of Helgen, and the dragon that destroyed it."
"What use is your hearsay?"
"I was in Helgen when it happened. I barely escaped with my life."
The Jarl stood. "Thank you, Irileth. Please let the stranger speak."
I related the fate of Helgen, much to the chagrin of the Imperial. As I spoke, the corners of Irileth's lips curled up in a barely perceptible grin.
"Farengar! Come over here and speak with our visitor," the Jarl called out to the robed man who was poring over a book near the corner of the room. "Farengar is my court wizard," he added for my benefit.
The man approached. Through the robe's hood I could see a drawn face and suspicious eyes. I immediately disliked Farengar, but at the Jarl's urging I related my story to him.
"I suspected as much," he stated. "The dragons are returning, as was foretold. I wonder if you might do me a favor and assist in my research. There is a tablet, located in a ruin nearby, but it is far beneath my station to go searching for it. I wonder if you might retrieve it for me?"
His request stirred my memory. During my previous day's travels, I had visited a nearby ruin and discovered an oddly shaped stone near a wall that had nearly blinded me with its magical energy. I pulled the stone from my pack.
"Oh, could you mean this old thing?" I asked innocently.
"The Dragon Tablet!" Farengar's tone had taken on a slightly less condescending note, "You are a handy one, aren't you?"
Just then a guard breathlessly burst into the great hall. "The Western watch tower is under attack! It's a dragon!"
Immediately Irileth began rounding up the castle guards. As she did so, the Jarl asked me to accompany her. "Since you know more about these dragons than anyone else, perhaps you can assist Irileth."
Along with four Whiterun soldiers, I followed Irileth through town, out the gate and down a path to a blackened and burning stone tower. A wounded soldier knelt on the steps of the tower. "Stop, it's still around here somewhere!" he shouted.
As he spoke I heard a sound like wind and the sky darkened briefly. A dragon circled overhead.
We drew our bows and loosed several volleys at the beast. Suddenly, the dragon's flight transformed into a dive. The ground shook as the massive creature slammed into the ground before us. Its wings flapped backward as tongues of flame lashed out of its mouth toward us.
I quickly readied my only healing spell and cast it on myself. As my Magicka drained I could feel that I wasn't keeping up. My armor felt hot enough to sear a boar steak and my skin began to singe and blacken. Just then, the dragon seemed to run out of steam. I rushed forward beneath its jaws and somehow, almost by luck, placed my sword point perfectly through its neck.
That's when it happened. The beast crashed to the ground before me and a wind rose from the dragon's corpse straight into me. When it was done nothing remained of the dragon but bone and ash.
It felt strange, and yet powerful all at the same time.
Then, unbidden, the image of the strange magical wall I had visited the previous day was all I could see. There, in the center, a runic word glowed as the rest of the image blurred away.
"FUS!" the word burst from my lips, gutturally, like that first unfortunate turn of the stomach after a night of overindulgence in Cyrodillic Brandy. As I spoke it, I could feel the force it made as the sound left my body.
The nearest soldier dropped his jaw in shock. "Dovahkiin! Dragon-born!" he shouted.
I don't truly understand what just happened, but my new reality just got very interesting, very quickly.
My character wandered up to Solitude.
After watching a beheading and wandering about town, two quests in my quest log said I had to visit Jarl Elisif. Turns out the court is full of Imperial bootlickers.
After watching the brief exchange where someone was pleading with Elisif for help, I walked up to her and started asking questions. She gave a sob story about how her husband had been shouted to death by Ulfric Stormcloak.
I decided to be cheeky, and demonstrate my Dovahkiin abilities for Elisif, much as I had for the Greybeards.
As it turns out, using a Dragon Shout on Elisif is not considered a friendly act. The Jarl bolted and the rest of her court attacked me all at once. I wasn't wearing any armor since I had the Radient Raiment clothes on for that quest, and it wasn't very long before I got the nice third person view of my character slumped dead in the throne of Solitude.
I was less than pleased.