"Hahaha, and then, and then- He punched the poor lad right in the face, clean off his feet!" The table roared with laughter, increasing the noise level within the Bannered Mare to at least twice its standing decibels. This was a feat in and of itself because it was so damned loud and packed in here to begin with. I smiled into my mug, listening to the stories coming in from across the bar.
The Bannered Mare, best damn tavvy in Whiterun. Hell, the only tavvy in Whiterun, at least worth mentioning. I lived in Solitude, technically, because I owned a house there, but for some reason, I'd always felt so much more at home in Whiterun. Maybe it was that Solitude was full of those damn Imperial sympathizers everywhere. That, and the tavern up there, the Winking Skeever, was no fun at all. Hardly ever any brawls. Me, I definitely preferred the rowdier, more boisterous drinking places, like the Bannered Mare of Whiterun, or mebbe the Bee and the Barb of Riften.
"Eh, but I'm not the man to talk of epic stories. You all should ask the Argonian over there by the door," my friend said with a smile. "Damn, does he have stories to tell!" he straightened up, downed his tankard and stood up to introduce me. I quaffed the remainder of my ale and asked Saadia, the Redguard woman who ran the inn for another round for me and Raylief, that stupid beautiful bastard that he is. I stood up as well as my drunken legs would let me and let him get on with it. "This wonderful bastard right here is the one I was just talking about!" he said rather tipsily.
a Nord stood up with his mead and asked," who, the puncher or the punchee?" everyone who was listening gave a good, hearty laugh, including me.
"Bahaha, you lads laugh, but the Dragonborn throws a mean right hook!" I retorted, much to the group's enjoyment. I slid a tankard down-range to Raylief and took the second for myself. Saadia knew me, she'd put it on my tab.
"Hoi, you drunken skunks, let me get on with them introductions, then!" that was Raylief, getting right back into it. "This is mine brother, not by blood but by Battlefield! He's a thief and a bastard, aye, but a mighty fine warrior as well! He ran with the Dragonborn for the longest time, you know," slurred my companion of battles gone by. "My shield-brother, Gaz'at Dahl here, he fought dragons and Daedra! Slain warriors and wizards alike!" he extolled, as he waved his arm for dramatic effect. The blasted Stormcloak nearly swiped my drink right out of my hands! With a quick (but off-balanced and drunken) duck, I put myself under his arm and we leaned upon each other for support. The men and women, all brave soldiers and strong warriors alike, raised a mug and cheered for my claimed deeds. Only in their wildest dreams did most of them ever think to battle such creatures and enemies. Others, I saw, looked a bit skeptical, needed convincing.
"Bah. 'E don't seem like too much. 'an we all know that nowadays the Dragonborn does his adventurin' alone." the Breton who spoke didn't seem like he was looking for a fist to the face, just some poor bastard too deep in his cups. And me? I love a good fight as much or more than the next man or Mer, but I wasn't so deep into my cup meself that I'd kill anything that moved. Yet. I had to get really hammered for that kind of violence. So instead of downing my courage and leaping for the man's throat, I calmed my twitching tail and looked the man coolly in the eye.
"Believe you, me, Breton." I hissed in the characteristic drawl of all Argonian. "I fought against, with, for and by the side of the Dragonborn of the cold, white north." I shot a glance Raylief's way and he winked and got up, so I decided to continue. The men around us at the table drew closer, sensing a story of blood and chaos and honor and bravery, just the story I was lookin' to tell. "Lemme tell you all a story. A story of danger and Daedra, a story of dragons and Draugr alike." I paused for a moment, waving my arms expansively for dramatic effect. Raylief came back with the Cyrodiilic whiskey I always drank when I spun this particular tale at the taverns.
"An' this whole thing is true, lemme tell you. You'd best believe it, mates." Raylief, suddenly seeming much more sober, spun easily into his chair. "He did go toe to toe with the Shrieking Dunmer himself, after all."
"Aye, that I did, mates. But that comes later in the story." I downed a slug of my whiskey straight from the bottle like I had so long ago, on that frosted night, and from there, I pulled myself back, through space and time. I went back years, to the very beginning, the first time I'd met Corvus Maren, my strongest ally and most steadfast friend, the Dragonborn himself. "And remember lads, I make none of this up. 'Tis all from memory, though, so bear with me." back to the beginning it was. "The night was dark; the moon was low in the sky. I found myself enlisted with some squad of Mercenaries down by Riften town..."