Author Note: Welcome to my new story inspired by The Elder scrolls V: Skyrim. Join Tristann as he explores the unknown and fights to make things go his own way in a world determined to decide Tristann's fate; despite what he may wish for himself. I have not yet decided if this will be a full story or just a series of one shots about Tristann. :)
Tristann, the Nord
I Know My Name is Tristann
I know my name is Tristann. I know I am a Nord from Skyrim. I was told that I was found beside the bodies of my slain parents and siblings just outside of a village not far from the border of Skyrim. It was unclear if the other roughly armored bodies that lay dead nearby were the attackers or if they were fellow travelers. The tale told by the guards, in the town nearby where I was found, was that I stood swaying in exhaustion while threatening those who had come to help with two blood stained daggers gripped tightly in my small fists. The guards said I showed myself to be a true Nord by nearly injuring those who approached and would have severely injured the first to approach if another wiser man hadn't snuck up behind me and grabbed my wrists.
It has been twelve years since I was found. I don't know how old I was then and I don't know how old I am now, but just recently I have been able to sport a light mustache and a small amount of whiskers around my mouth and on my chin. The whiskers along my jaw line are few and sparse so I have taken to removing them instead of looking so scruffy. My facial hair growth is not yet of beard status, but it has the promise of one in the future.
I was told the only thing I would tell the villagers was that my name was Tristann. "My name is Tristann," I would say to anything they would ask of me and I continued to only say those words for the first year with them.
I was raised for a time by the old guard that had stopped me from injuring my other rescuers, but he was murdered within a few years of my arrival and it fell to the other villagers to raise me. I was passed from family to family, always cared for but never feeling as if I belonged. I learned early to work hard while being watched and when I wasn't watched I did as I pleased. This hard-headedness of mine lead to a few uncomfortable situations, the last of which helped the elders of the village decide it was time for me to head to Skyrim to search for any remaining family and to find my own way.
And so it came to be, as I prepared to cross into Skyrim, that I had managed to pickpocket a few travelers before picking the wrong target. My target reacted violently and without warning and when next I was aware of my surroundings I found myself in a wagon with my hands tied.