*All credit to Bethesda Softworks*
Pain. I feel myself coming around. I can't remember much of anything anymore. My name. My age. The chunk of Vvardenfell's eruption that took my left eye. Nothing more. I open my remaining eye to find I'm sat, hands tied, in a carriage with three similarly bound men, one wearing armour crossed with a blue sash, one dark-haired fellow in rags like my own, and one had also been gagged. Driving the carriage is an Imperial legionary, following another cart-full of soldiers wearing the same blue-crossed uniform as the blond Nord opposite me.
"Hey, you, you're finally awake!" he exclaims, when he notices my raised head. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." He nodded to the ragged man.
"Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along – Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell!" the thief rants, then turns to me. "You there. You and me – we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!"
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." The Nord responds.
"Shut up, back there!" The legionary calls over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the bumpy, snow-covered road.
"And what's wrong with him, huh?" The thief adds, glaring at the gagged fellow.
"Watch your tongue!" cries the Stormcloak. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"
"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the Rebellion! But, if they've captured you…oh Gods, where are they taking us?" The failed robber sounds as though he is beginning to panic. I roll my eyes – I thought the men of Skyrim were tougher than this!
"I don't know where we're going," says the Nord, "but Sovngarde awaits."
"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening!" Yep. Definitely panicking.
"Hey, what village are you from, horse-thief?" asks the Nord, after a pause.
"Why do you care?"
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."
"Rorikstead." Stammers the thief. "I'm…I'm from Rorikstead."
I look up beyond the soldier to see a stone palisade come into view.
"General Tullius, sir!" A legionary atop the wall cries to the mounted man leading the procession. "The headsman is waiting!"
"Good." I hear him respond. "Let's get this over with." He turns aside past the walls.
"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh, Divines! Please help me!" begs the wretched thief as we pass through the gates.
The Stormcloak twisted in his seat to glare at the general, who was conversing with a black robed Altmer.
"Look at him," he spat. "General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him, damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."
We were being driven through a small jumble of half stone, half wooden houses, walled by an imperial fort. A light or recognition dawns in the Nord's eyes.
"Ah, this is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in? Funny; when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."
"Who are they, Daddy?" comes a small voice from behind me. "Where are they going?"
I turn to see the villagers are watching us pass.
"You need to go inside, little cub." A man addresses the boy who had spoken.
"Why?" the lad asks, not moving from his perch on the steps up to the porch of the house. "I want to watch the soldiers!"
"Inside the house. Now." The father replies, sternly.
"Yes, Papa." The child sighs. As the cart turns, I lose sight of the pair.
"Whoa!" the soldier calls to the horse, and the cart rumbles to a stop next to the preceding one.
"Why are we stopping?" Whimpers the thief.
"Why do you think?" the Nord growls. "End of the line." He and the gagged Jarl stand. "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the Gods waiting for us."
"No, wait! We're not rebels!" The dirt-coated thief cries as the Jarl jumps off the carriage.
"Face your death with some courage, thief." Mutters the Stormcloak, as I follow the thief off the cart.
"You've got to tell them!" The thief says, a sheen of sweat on his brow as the pressure of the Stormcloak and myself behind him pushes him forward. "We weren't with you, this is a mistake!"
In front of us were two Imperial soldiers, one helmeted and wearing heavy armour, the other bare headed, bearing a ledger and a pen.
"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time!" Orders the helmeted one.
"Empire loves their damned lists." Sighs the Nord behind me.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." Calls the lightly armoured man. Ulfric walks towards the growing group standing nearby.
"It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric!" Says the Stormcloak, barely loud enough for me to hear.
"Ralof of Riverwood." The Nord leaves. "Lokir of Rorikstead."
"No!" The man I now know to be Lokir cries as he stumbles forward. "I'm not a rebel, you can't do this!" He began to run, past the soldiers and up the sloping street.
"Halt!" Cries the one I identify as the captain of the garrison as he passes, to no avail.
"You're not going to kill me!" Lokir boasts in his terror as he tears past the gathering of villagers and the soldiers protecting them.
"Archers!" Orders the Captain, and the thief was thrown to the ground by the force of several arrows thudding into his back. He didn't move.
"Anyone else feel like running?" The Captain asks.
"Wait, you there." The other soldier in front of me pauses, checking his book. "Step forward. Who are you?" He looks up, his blue eyes staring straight into my red one.
"I am Lethandhrel One-Eye, formerly of Balmora." That came as a revelation to me. It was an automatic response. My memories become a little clearer. I remember that it was fleeing Balmora as the Red Mountain exploded and destroyed the town when I was a girl, that I lost my eye, and gained the scar on my cheek and my name.
"Another refugee?" sympathises the legionary. "Gods really have abandoned your people, Dark Elf. Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list."
"Forget the list;" commands the Captain. "She goes to the block."
What? Why? I didn't come all this way just to die like a common criminal! I hadn't even done anything! All this runs through my mind in an instant.
"By your orders, Captain." The legionary turns back to me. "I'm sorry – we'll make sure your remains are returned to Morrowind. Follow the Captain, prisoner." I'm beginning to despise these Imperials. I totter after the Captain, my legs unsteady after who knows how long unused.
As I join the group gathered around the headsman's block in the middle of the courtyard, I see the Jarl being confronted by the general.
"Ulfric Stormcloak – some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his King and usurp his throne," the general growls. What did he mean, the Voice? What is he talking about?
Ulfric grumbles back, his response muffled by the tight linen covering his entire mouth. I'm thinking maybe it was a good thing too, considering!
"You started this war," continued Tullius. "Plunged Skyrim into chaos! Now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!"
A distant roar makes everyone look into the almost cloudless blue sky.
"What was that?" Asks the legionary with the list.
Tullius glares at his men. "It's nothing. Carry on."
"Yes, General Tullius!" the Captain salutes, fist to heart, and turns to an orange-robed priestess standing behind the block, accompanied by a huge man wearing the sable hood of the executioner. "Give them their last rites."
The priestess steps forward and raises her hands to the sky. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines be upon you -"
"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!" A red-headed Stormcloak interrupts her, striding toward the block.
"As you wish." Grumps the priestess, and she steps back, out of range of the blood. Oh Gods, I'm really going to die!
"Come on! I haven't got all morning!" the fire-haired warrior cries as she does so. As the Captain pushes him to his knees and bends him over the block, it occurs to me how silly his words sound. None of us have all morning – because we are going to be dead before the end of it! I push the rising panic down. Something has to happen to stop things!
"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" the doomed man cries as the headsman raises his axe, and with a resounding THWACK! The red-head is parted from his blue-sashed body. The Captain nudges the corpse aside with her boot, before stepping away and casting her steel gaze over the remaining people.
"You Imperial bastards!" cries a female voice from somewhere in the group with me.
"Justice!" calls a rough male voice from the crowd of villagers, followed by dulcet tones crying:
"Death to the Stormcloaks!"
"As fearless in death, as he was in life," murmurs a familiar voice beside me, and I turn my head to see that my other surviving carriage mate was standing beside me.
"Next, the Dark Elf!" the Captain cries, and my heart is beating so hard in my throat that I can barely breathe. Before I can move, however, the sky echoes with another resounding roar, this time seemingly much closer.
"There it is again!" exclaims the sympathetic legionary. "Did you hear that?"
"I said, next. Prisoner," the Captain growled through clenched teeth. My turn.
"To the block, prisoner," the Nord legionary tells me. "Nice and easy." I take a couple of steps and I'm suddenly standing over the bloody wooden chunk, the red hair of my predecessor almost glowing in the basket before it. I feel a gauntleted hand on my shoulder forcing me to my knees, then a boot on my back pushes me over. The ground rockets towards me, and I turn my head so the smell of blood doesn't directly fill my nostrils. Which, I soon realise, was a stupid thing to do, as now I have a marvellous view of the executioner as he hefts his axe above his head; slowly, as though savouring the moment.
Suddenly, another, extremely close, roar pierces the sky, and a dark, winged shape glides over the tower.
"What in Oblivion is that?!" exclaims the general behind me.
"Sentries, what do you see?" orders the Captain.
"It's in the clouds!" screams back a female voice, as a massive, winged lizard thing lands with a crash on the roof of the bastion.
"Dragon!" cries another voice. Dragon?! Those creatures are tales to scare the children with, surely! Stories! I'm still kneeling, head on the block, when the monster opens his mouth, and with a boom that knocked everyone off balance, including the headsman who had been continuing with his job as though nothing had happened, the sky erupts into massive flaming boulders.
"Don't just stand there!" the general's voice sounds through the chaos. "Guards – get the townspeople to safety!" Arrows are flying over my head now, most of them bouncing off of the dragon's scaly hide.
"What does it take to kill this monster?" cries on of the soldiers. I come to my senses when a rock smashes to pieces mere feet from my face, the chunks luckily missing me, and I begin to stumble to my feet, which is a very difficult thing to do with your hands tied together.
"Hey, Dark Elf!" The Stormcloak from the carriage calls from across the courtyard. "Get up! Come on, the Gods won't give us another chance! This way!" I follow him as he turns and dashes into the cover of a tower. He slams the door closed with his foot as I pass through, nearly catching my heels in the jamb. Inside are a couple of wounded Stormcloaks, huddled together in pain, and Ulfric Stormcloak, mouth ungagged but his hands still tied and his waist.
"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing?" My new companion addresses him. "Could the legends be true?"
"Legends don't burn down villages." His voice was deep and commanding. I blinked – for some reason, I was expecting this man, who still held himself proudly and looked every inch the Jarl, to sound a little – make that a lot – like a bear. "We need to move, now!"
"Up through the tower!" my new friend cries, turning towards the stone stairs that made up half the wall. "Let's go!"
As I reach the mezzanine halfway up the tower, I can hear hurried scuffling. My head clears the floor to see two tattered Stormcloaks struggling to remove toppled stonework.
"We just need to clear these rocks -" one says, but before I can go to help, the wall bursts in, and as I duck, a huge, black-scaled head peers inside, opens its fanged mouth, and with a roar (which I swear has words in it), incinerated them both. The dragon takes off and continues his destruction of the fort as my rescuer and I reach the rock-strewn remains of the mezzanine. There is nothing I can do for the Stormcloaks but hope that the stonework killed them before the fire did. Flames are no way to die quickly.
"See the inn on the other side?" asks the Nord. "Jump through the roof and keep going!" I turn towards the gap in the roof. There's no way I'm going to be able to jump that gap! There's at least a 30 foot drop straight down from the hole, and the alley between the tower and the inn is at least five feet across.
"Go!" my fellow escapee cries. "We'll follow when we can!" And so I jump. And land on the remains of the top floor of the inn, jarring both my shins in doing so. At least I made it across! I glance back up toward the tower, but my erstwhile companion is out of sight - probably cutting his bonds on a rock or something. I jump down through the hole in the floor and jog through a hole in the wall, to find the soldier from the roll-call there, along with an older fellow sat on the ground. The legionary is at the mouth of the alley, beckoning the young boy and his father, who were pausing for breath in the middle of the street, towards him and the relative safety of the alley.
"Haming, you need to get over here!" he cries as they start forward again, the boy dashing forward as his father trips on a loose cobblestone and falls to the ground. "That a boy, you're doing great!" As the boy cowers next to the elder, the dragon crashes to the ground behind the father, causing him to lose his footing again.
"Torolf!" shouts the soldier. "Gods, everyone get back!" He ducks just in time, as the dragon breathes fire towards us, burning the poor struggling man to a crisp. Thank the Gods Haming didn't see his father's terrible death. The legionary notices me standing there, with what I am sure is a face depicting horror, both at what I had just seen, and newly discovered memories of Balmora, and the Foyada Mamaea running hot with molten lava, burning everything and everyone in its path.
"Still alive, prisoner?" he calls over the battlecries of the fighting soldiers and the roars of the murderous beast above. "Keep close to me if you want to stay that way! Gunnar," he turns to the people crouching behind him. "Take care of the boy! I have to find General Tullius and join the defence."
"Gods guide you, Hadvar," I hear the old man – Gunnar; I may as well learn their names, who knows who else will remember them? - say as we dash across the road.
We jump down off of the burnt remains of a wooden path behind a house. The soldiers on the stone wall above us are fighting bravely, but I already know there's no hope in saving Helgen now.
"It won't die, it just keeps coming!" laments one as we pass beneath.
"Stay close to the wall." Hadvar says as we come up to another alley between the ruins of two dwellings. Before we can sprint through, however, the dragon slams down onto the wall above us. This time, I could hear it shout.
"Yol Toor Shul!" it screams, and a torrent of orange flames gushes out of its mouth. The wind of its wings nearly threw me to the ground as it took off again. I'm beginning to respect this soldier, standing leaning into the massive draft, but I'm afraid I just cannot like him. Not after what the Imperials tried to do today.
"Quickly, follow me!" he cries, dashing off up the alley and through the cinders of the other ruined house. As we emerge on the other side, several soldiers are gathered.
"Use everything we have!" comes a cry from the covered wall above the gate ahead. In front of me, a townsman sits, doubled over.
"Tell my family I fought bravely…" he breathes as I pass.
"Come on, give me your hand – I'm getting you out of here!" One of the nearby soldiers says, but he is too late. I jump over the curled body of a woman, who, as I dash on, I realise is still barely alive.
"It's you and me, prisoner! Stay close!" Hadvar cries as we pass under an archway into the courtyard in front of the keep. On the other side, the dragon swoops, takes up a hapless soldier in its talons and drops him. Ouch.
"Ralof, you damned traitor! Out of my way!" I look down again to see who it is that Hadvar is barking at, and see the Stormcloak who first helped me running towards the keep.
"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time!" he cries, pausing as he passes us.
"Fine!" Shouts Hadvar, the hatred obvious in his tone. "I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde! With me, prisoner, let's go!" He runs towards a smallish door nearby.
"You, with me! Into the Keep!" Ralof calls me. Great – a who-do-I-choose situation. I hate these ones. You know that someone is going to despise you no matter who you pick. Except this time, instead of hatred, it's a doubling of the chance of survival. It's too dangerous hanging around thinking though, so I head towards the closer of the doors – and so choose Ralof.
"Through here – let's go!" Ralof pushes open the doors and we bolt through, slamming them behind us in our hurry to be out of the dragon's sight. Ahead of us is a table, with the corpse of a Stormcloak lying next to it. Ralof crouches next to him.
"We'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother." He stands back up and pauses to catch his breath. "Looks like we're the only ones who made it. That thing was a dragon; no doubt. Just like the children's stories and the legends – the harbingers of the End Times!" Okay, now I'm worried. "We better get moving. Come here – let's see if I can get these bindings off." He pulls out a dagger and cuts the ropes around my wrists. Ahh, but it feels good to have to use of my hands back!
"There you go." Ralof sheathes the dagger. "You may as well take Gunjar's gear – he won't be needing it anymore." Wait, what? Wear a dead man's armour? The idea grosses me out, but anything will be better than these tattered ruins that I'm currently wearing. I awkwardly undress the stiffening body and take his axe and his small satchel too. I pause, reluctant to don the armour.
"Alright – get that armour on and give that axe a few swings. I'm going to see if I can find some way out of here." Ralof turns towards the iron gate in the wall of the tower base we are in. While he is occupied with examining the gate, I hurriedly climb into the armour, and test the balance of the axe. Seems good – the armour seems to be one-size-fits-everyone, it's not too heavy, but it is still rather uncomfortable, and in its tattered state, I'm not too sure about how protective it is.
Ralof grumbles under his breath. "This one's locked. Let's see about that gate." Opposite the iron gate is a wooden portcullis-type affair, blocking off another corridor. "Damn, no way to open this from our side."
As he pauses, thinking, the Captain from earlier and another soldier round the corner at the end of the corridor.
"It's the Imperials! Take cover!" Ralof ducks back behind the doorframe, and I do the same on the other side.
"Come on, soldier, keep moving!" The Captain cries, approaching the gate. "Get that gate open." The underling pulls a chain on the wall beside the grate and the wooden structure raises into the ceiling. No sooner had they passed through, than Ralof raises his axe and takes a swing at the soldier.
The Captain, drawing her sword, backs straight into me. She whirls around, swinging her blade, and I barely have time to raise the axe to block the steel. She obviously recognises me, and seemingly has decided to finish the execution. Now I am definitely fighting for my life. I dodge another swipe, and slam my axe into the soft flesh of her neck. With a spurt of blood, she gurgles to the ground, twitches a couple of times, then stops moving. I look to Ralof, who had taken out the other soldier and was sliding his axe into a loop on his belt.
I rummage through the Captain's hip-bag, and, seeing as her armour was in far better condition than that which I am currently wearing, I grit my teeth and swap my armour for hers. Wondering what to do with my discarded clothing, I notice that her little bag contains items that are larger than the bag itself. These little things must be magic! I stuff my rags and my Stormcloak armour into my satchel. It fits with plenty of room to spare. These little sacks are amazing!
"Did you find a key? See if it unlocks that door!" Ralof heads towards the iron gate. Yes, I did find a key, but curiosity overtakes me, and I follow the open corridor into a barracks room. I open a chest to find another key, which I take in case the one I had was for a different door – they look the same, but who can tell? I take the iron sword that hangs from a rack on a wall, some gold that I know I will need in the outside world, a book and some wine. Another chest holds more gold, and some armour, but I don't want to keep Ralof waiting any longer, so I head back and use the Captain's key to open the iron gate.
"That's it! Come on, let's get out of here before the dragon brings the whole tower down on our heads." We dash through, down some stairs and into a corridor. There are three Stormcloaks hanging around in the middle, but before we can join them, there is a great rumble, a roar – and the whole corridor collapses onto their heads.
"Look out!" cries Ralof, huddling away from the falling rock. He rises as the dust settles. "Damn. That dragon doesn't give up easy." I open the door on my left.
"Grab everything useful and let's move!" comes an authorative voice from inside. "Dragon's burning everything to the ground!" I step into the room to see two soldiers rummaging through a barrel.
"Just need to gather some more potions…" the other says, as the first looks up towards us.
"Stormcloaks!" he attacks with a cry. Blasted Imperials! It's either one of us or one of them with these people. They don't last long.
"A storeroom!" No, really? I hadn't noticed, Ralof. "See if you can find any potions – we'll need them."
I search around the entirety of the area, taking some ingredients, meat – I'm beginning to get a bit hungry; I'll cook it later – some more wine, gold, and some potions, most of which were in the barrel the soldiers had prised open.
"Done? Let's get moving."
Further on through the keep, there came the echoes of a struggle. We round a corner, reaching some steps down into a bloody room, with three cages and an enclosed corner.
"Troll's blood – it's a torture room! Hear that? Come on!" Ralof cries, rushing towards the battle. We're too late, though – we arrive just as the Torturer is withdrawing his blade from the last of his previous opponents. He and his assistant rush towards us, hatred twisting their crimson-splattered features. Needless to say, they last about as long as the soldiers from the storeroom. These two bested those Stormcloaks?
"Shor's bones. We were too late." Ralof rises from checking the bodies of his comrades. "Damn the Empire! Wait a second – looks like there's something in this cage!" He walks up to the middle cage and rattles the door, grumbling. "It's locked. See if you can get it open with some picks." He offers me a handful of lockpicks. "We might need that gold once we get out. Grab anything useful and let's go."
I take the opportunity to raid the rest of the room, gaining three more books, some more picks, potions, a couple of daggers and some gold. I decide to practice my thievery on the other cages in the room before having a go at the one Ralof was interested in. The locks soon fall open. Inside the middle cage, I profit – gold, potions and a spell tome for a spell I already know. No matter – spell books sell for more than their entertaining cousins.
"This way." Ralof leads me down a short corridor lined with iron-barred cells. Two of the gates are already open, and I use the other two to hone my lockpicking skills. Inside the last one, I find a small purse of gold and some bonemeal, which I collect to sell on later. We continue on to a room, with raised stone platforms bridging the babbling brook that ran through the middle. Dotted throughout the room are Imperial legionaries, who are arguing when we enter.
"Orders are to wait until General Tullius arrives."
"I'm not waiting to be killed by a dragon! We should fall back!" The argument is brought to an abrupt end as Ralof roars past me, already swinging his axe. What is he thinking? It is too late to do anything now. Besides, I have definitely had enough with these single-minded Cyrodiils. I rush to the other side of the room and use a flame spell to ignite a patch of oil that two of the dumb archers are paddling in. With a 'whoomph!' the men topple to the ground. I spin, raising my axe, to discover Ralof finishing off the last one. How weak are these people? I rummage through their belongings, taking the arrows, a bow and the daggers I find.
I follow Ralof down a short corridor which ends in a raised drawbridge.
"Let's see where this goes." Ralof mutters, pulling the lever. The drawbridge slams down, and we dash across – just in time, as with an accompanying roar from the dragon outside, the roof crashes down through the wooden bridge.
"No going back that way now." Ralof states the obvious again. "We'd better push on – the rest of them will have to find another way out." If there are any others left alive. Instead of following him, however, I jump down into the gap revealed by the broken bridge and follow a small tunnel to an intersecting area where the stream has gouged a path through the stone. Opposite me is a skeleton, a potion clutched in its hand and a purse next to it. I travel along the stream, through a broken grill and into the cavernous area where Ralof is waiting, beckoning me on. We both continue down the stream, finding its path almost blocked by fallen rocks. Another purse lies on a nearby ledge, so I grab it as Ralof inspects the mossy stone.
"Hmm, that doesn't go anywhere." Ralof turns to the side passage behind me. "I guess we better try this way." And off he goes, with me close behind, beginning to wonder where this blasted cave system ends – or even if it ends…
As we turn the corner in the corridor, I notice that the next room is coated in cobweb, and a couple of large spiders sit there, waiting. I hate spiders – they just have too much of everything! As I swing my axe at one, flame spouting from my palm toward another, two larger ones descend from the ceiling. Ew – that one touched me! Soon, the abominations lay in a charred heap at my feet. Their fangs are still dripping venom, however, so I collect a couple of vials of it – it might come in useful later.
"I hate those things." Ralof comments as he passes. "Too many eyes, you know?" I do indeed. I prise open a couple of egg cases and take a couple to use as ingredients later.
We follow a passage – free of cobweb, I'm pleased to discover – into a large area dissected by the brook. Crossing a stone bridge, I take a coinpurse from beneath a cart as Ralof draws to a halt.
"Hold up – there's a bear just ahead. See her? I'd rather not tangle with her right now. Let's try to sneak by. Just take it nice and slow, and watch where you step. Or if you're feeling lucky, you can take this bow – might take her by surprise." Okay, I'm not going to say no to his offer of a longbow and some arrows. I can always use more arrows, and the extra bow can easily be converted into gold at the nearest store!
Carefully, only taking my eyes off the bear to watch my footing, I sneak along the wall of the cavern, Ralof quietly following. A couple of times I have to pause as the bear yawns, or stretches a powerful limb.
"Almost there…" Ralof mutters. This would be easier without the commentary, but I am glad of the company in case the ursine beast wakes up and decides to make us breakfast. And not of the 'porridge for everyone' kind.
"Phew! That was close." We make it to yet another corridor, this one lined with the blood of the bear's previous meals. This one, however, ends with snow, bright light and a cool breeze.
"That looks like the way out!" I decide not to comment. "I knew we'd make it!" Ralof dashes into the bright sunlight. I emerge from the murky passage and look to the sky, to realise that it's only midday. It felt like we'd been down that hole several weeks! As I stand in dazzled surprise, a dark shape passes over the sun.
"Wait!" Ralof takes cover behind a rock, but the dragon has already passed, heading between the mountains northwards. "There he goes." Ralof says as he straightens. "Looks like he's gone for good this time. No way to know if anyone else made it out alive, but this place is going to be swarming with Imperials soon enough." He starts off down the track. "We'd better clear out of here."
Following his sturdy back, I'm wondering what to do next when he calls over his shoulder:
"My sister, Gerdur, runs the mill in Riverwood, just up the road – I'm sure she'd help you out." That answers my question. "It's probably best if we split up. Good luck. I wouldn't have made it without your help today." No way am I going out into the unknown on my own just yet. Besides, what if the road forks? How would I know which turn to take?
Ralof doesn't seem to mind the company. "You know, you should go to Windhelm and join the fight to free Skyrim. You've seen the true face of the Empire here today." Damn right! "If anyone will know what the coming of the dragon means, it's Ulfric." We finally reach the road, but before we get far along it, Ralof stops and points out a dark stone structure on the side if the mountain across the valley from where we stood.
"See that ruin up there? Bleak Falls Barrow. I never understood how my sister could stand living in the shadow of that place. I guess you get used to it." We continued down the road. Around a corner, the road began to descend into the valley, through which a wide river twisted, lined with tall pine trees. The road bent again, and at the peak of the twist we find three tall stones, each carved with an image of a man – one heavily armoured and wielding an axe; one robed, with a long beard, pointed hat and tall staff; and the last hooded, waving two daggers.
"These are the Guardian Stones." Explains Ralof. "Three of the thirteen standing stones that dot Skyrim's landscape. Go ahead – see for yourself."
Okay, not entirely sure what he meant by that. I approach the middle stone, the one with the robed figure, and raise a hand to touch the rough surface. As soon as my ashen-skinned digits prod the stone, the etching begins to glow, and an eerie blue beam blasts into the sky. Suddenly I feel more adept at magic.
"Mage, eh?" Ralof says, seeming surprised. "Well, to each his own – it's not for me to judge." He starts off further down the road. I follow, perplexed – what did he mean by that comment? It's not like I knew what the stone would do.
"Remember, this isn't Stormcloak territory." Ralof says, pausing for me to catch up. "If we're ahead of the news from Helgen, we should be fine as long as we don't do anything stupid. If we run into any Imperials, just let me do the talking, alright?" As soon as he finishes his sentence, three wolves leap from atop a rocky outcrop, teeth bared in a hungry snarl. What happened to wolves not attacking people? Obviously the wolves of Skyrim follow very different rules. We quickly dispatch them, and I skin them, partly as revenge for their attack.
"I'm glad you decided to come with me." Ralof calls as we round a fallen log. "We're almost to Riverwood." A few steps later, a palisade similar to the one ringing the stricken town we had just escaped, came into view. This wall, however, only seemed to serve as a marker point for the edge of the road, as it began a few feet away on one side, and stopped an equal distance from the other. Beyond were buildings built in the same style as the ones in Helgen were, one even with a second storey, a balcony running around three of its sides.
"Looks like nobody here knows what's happened yet." Comments Ralof as we pass beneath the border wall. "Come on, Gerdur's probably working in her lumber mill." As he turns off the path to cross a wooden bridge to an island in the river on which sat the expanse of the mill, I paused to eavesdrop as an elderly woman called out to a younger Nord walking past.
"A dragon! I saw a dragon!" She cries, stopping the honey-haired male in his tracks.
"What? What is it now, Mother?"
"It was as big as a mountain, and black as night. It flew right over the barrow!"
Her son wasn't impressed. "Dragons, now, is it? Please, Mother, if you keep on like this everyone in town will think you're crazy, and I've got better things to do than listen to more of your fantasies."
"You'll see." The elder replies indignantly. "It was a dragon! It'll kill us all and then you'll believe me!" I quickly dash along the wooden bridge before anyone can see that I was listening in.
I catch up to Ralof as he approaches a pretty blonde woman who is currently chopping up firewood.
Gerdur!" He calls out, and she looks up, her lined eyes lighting up upon sight of her tired sibling.
"Brother! Mara's mercy, it's good to see you!" She straightened, tucking the axe into the satchel that everyone seems to wear at their belt, and rushed towards us, a smile fighting with the worry evident in her sky blue eyes. "But is it safe for you to be here?"
"Gerdur…" Ralof sighs.
"We heard that Ulfric had been captured…" She trailed off, relief chocking off the rest of the sentence.
"Gerdur, I'm fine." Ralof reassures. "At least, now I am."
"Are you hurt? What happened?" Gerdur asks, then notices me standing beside her brother. "And who's this? One of your comrades?" What? I'm wearing full Imperial armour! Though, I suppose, I could be counted as that…
"No, not a comrade yet, but a friend." Ralof grins. "I owe her my life, in fact. Is there somewhere we can talk? There's no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials…"
"Helgen?" puzzled, Gerdur takes a small step back. "Has something happened?" She shakes her head. "You're right, follow me. Hod – come here a minute! I need your help with something!" She calls towards the mill, heading toward a small clearing punctuated with a large, rain-stained stump.
"What is it, woman?" Came another, deeper Nordic burr from within the covered building. "Sven drunk on the job again?" A large, golden-topped bear of a man dressed in a simple white shirt and dark trousers walks into view.
"Hod, just come here." Gerdur sighed in response.
"Ralof! What are you doing here? Ah – I'll be right down!" Hod disappears into the shadows again, and I jog to catch up with Ralof and his sister, as a young boy followed by a scruffy wolfhound almost as tall as him bolt across another wooden bridge.
"Uncle Ralof!" Cries the lad excitedly. "Can I see your axe? How many Imperials have you killed? Do you really know Ulfric Stormcloak?"
"Hush Frodnar!" Urges Gerdur. "This is no time for your games. Go and watch the south road; come find us if you see any Imperial soldiers coming."
"Aww, Mama, I want to stay and talk with Uncle Ralof!" The child whines.
Ralof turns to the boy. "Look at you, almost a grown man! Won't be long before you'll be joining the fight yourself!"
"That's right!" Frodnar seems unhealthily attracted to the idea of killing people. "Don't worry, Uncle Ralof, I won't let those soldiers sneak up on you!" He dashes away, the hound barking and trotting joyously after.
Hod strides up from the mill as Ralof lowers himself onto the stump. I stand nearby, uncertain of what to do, then give up and stay on my feet.
"Now, Ralof, what's going on? You two look pretty well done in." he rumbles as he comes closer.
"I can't remember when I last slept…" Ralof sighs, staring at the ground as he collected his thoughts. "Where to start? Well, the news you heard about Ulfric was true. The Imperials ambushed us outside Darkwater Crossing – like they knew exactly where we'd be. That was…two days ago, now. We stopped in Helgen this morning, and I thought it was all over. Had us lined up to the headsman's block and ready to start chopping."
"The cowards!" Exclaims Gerdur.
"They wouldn't dare give Ulfric a fair trial." Ralof continues. "Treason, for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would've seen the truth then. But then - out of nowhere – a dragon attacked."
Gerdur gasps. "You don't mean a real, live -"
"I can hardly believe it myself, and I was there. As strange as it sounds, we'd all be dead if not for that dragon. In the confusion, we managed to slip away. Are we really the first to make it to Riverwood?"
"Nobody else has come up the south road today, as far as I know." Gerdur replies.
"Good." Ralof stretches his back. "Maybe we can lay up for a while. I hate to put your family in danger, Gerdur, but…"
"Nonsense. You and your friend are welcome to stay here as long as you like. Let me worry about the Imperials." She looks at me. "Any friend of Ralof's is a friend of mine." She approaches and holds out her hand, pressing a key into mine.
"Here's a key to the house – stay as long as you like. If there's anything else you need, just let me know."
"Thanks." I croak, realising that's the first sound to come out of my mouth since before I was captured, I'm sure.
"There is something you can do for me – for all of us here." What does Gerdur want me to do? "The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenceless. We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever troops he can. If you'll do that for me, I'll be in your debt." She turns back to Ralof before I can even ask the way.
"Thanks sister. I knew we could count on you."
"I ought to get back to work before I'm missed," worries Gerdur. "but did anyone else escape? Did Ulfric..?"
"Don't worry, I'm sure he made it out. It'll take more than a dragon to stop Ulfric Stormcloak."
"I'll let them into the house and, you know, show them where everything is…" Hod suggests.
Gerdur smiles lovingly back. "Hmm – help them drink up our mead you mean. Good luck, brother. I'll see you later." She walks back toward the mill as Ralof rises from his rotting perch.
"Don't worry about me – I know how to lay low." He reassures her, heading across the bridge into town.
I take a small detour to pick up a spare woodcutter's axe – it might come in handy if I need to work for money later on – then head toward the two-storey building, from which hangs a wooden sign proclaiming it to be 'The Riverwood Trader'. As I enter, the proprietor is having an argument with a pouting dark-haired young woman.
"Well, one of us has to do something!" she says.
"I said no!" the shopkeeper cries. "No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!"
"Well, what are you going to do then, huh?" retorts the girl. "Let's hear it!"
"We are done talking about this." The owner finally notices me trying to keep out of the brunt of proceedings while also trying not to seem to be – a difficult feat! "Oh, a customer. Sorry you had to hear that." The man looks at me with the same dark eyes as the girl I assume to be his younger sister. "I don't know what you overheard, but the Riverwood Trader is still open! I am Lucan Valerius, proprietor. Feel free to shop."
"What have you got for sale?" With each word I'm becoming more and more accustomed to speech.
"Take a look." Lucan gestured to the items on the shelves behind him. I look, but I don't see anything I believe I can afford or that I need.
"Actually, I'm looking to sell some things. I'm a bit light on coin at the moment."
"No problem. What is it that you wish to sell?" Lucan assesses each item I unload from my bag, then counts out a reasonable amount of gold, which I accept and add to my purse.
"Did something happen?" I ask as I tuck the purse back into my small satchel.
"Uh, yes, we did have a bit of a, uh, break in. But we still have plenty to sell!" Lucan assures me. "Robbers were only after one thing. An ornament, solid gold, in the shape of a dragon's claw."
Sensing a quest, and finding myself eager for the adventure, I respond:
"I could help you get the claw back."
"You could?" He sounds surprised! "I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment. It's yours if you bring my claw back. Now, if you're going to get those thieves, you should head to Bleak Falls Barrow, northeast of town." His sister behind me says something, but I miss what it is that she says.
"Yes!" Lucan, obviously, didn't. "So now you don't have to go, do you?"
"Oh really?" She responds scathingly. "Well I think your new helper here needs a guide."
Lucan is speechless. "Wha – no, I – oh, by the Eight, fine! But only to the edge of town!"
The woman sighs, rises from her seat and leaves the shop, leaving me to follow of my own accord. Outside, the sun still shines brightly.
"We have to go through town and across the bridge to get to Bleak Falls Barrow." She explains. You can see it from here, though – the mountain just over the buildings. I'm Camilla, by the way." She starts down the road towards the other side of the village. "Those thieves must be mad, hiding out there. Those old crypts are filled with nothing but traps, trolls and who knows what else! I wonder why they only stole Lucan's golden claw? I mean, we have plenty of things in the shop that are worth just as much coin. Lucan found the claw about a year after he opened the store. He never quite explained where he got it – he's a tricky one."
We reach the bridge as she speaks, and she stops. "This is the bridge out of town. The path up the mountain to the northwest leads to Bleak Falls Barrow. I guess I should get back to my brother. He'll throw a fit if I take too long. Such a child…" She heads back into town, leaving me to my own devices.
I don't think I want to go to Bleak Falls Barrow just yet, with what Camilla said about trolls. Nasty brutes, trolls. Hard to kill unless you know a good flame spell - stops them regenerating. I cross the bridge and notice a signpost saying that Whiterun is along the main road, which I proceed to follow. Jogging along, a wolf springs out at me, so I swing my axe and cut the violent creature's throat open. Using this cut to skin the creature, I stuff the pelt into my bag and continue on, past a trio of Imperial soldiers escorting a bound Nord in rags to I don't want to know where. I don't pause, even when I pass a building with a sign at the road that tells me I've just found the Honningbrew Meadery. In a nearby farm, though, I see a giant beleaguered by three warriors is strange armour, two swinging greatswords and the female peppering the tall man-like creature with arrows. The giant is felled before I can try and lend a hand, though. The woman, war paint striping her face, closes the distance between us, a look crossed between joy and disappointment.
"Well that's taken care of, no thanks to you."
"You didn't look like you needed help." I try and defuse the situation – if they can take down a giant, they won't find me too difficult.
"Certainly not, but a true warrior would've relished the opportunity to take on a giant." Phew – so that's why she seems disappointed in me. "That's why I'm here, with my Shield-Brothers."
I notice the emphasis she put on the title she gave her companions. "What is a Shield-Brother?"
"An outsider, eh?" Is it that obvious? "Never heard of the Companions? An order of warriors, brothers and sisters in honour, and we show up to solve problems, if the coin is good enough." Sounds like a good thing to be a part of.
"Can I join you?" I ask, sounding like an eager child asking to play with the big kids. Sigh.
"Not for me to say." Responds the painted archer. "You'll have to talk to Kodlak White-Mane up in Jorrvaskr. The old man's got a good sense for people. He can look in your eyes and tell your worth. If you go to him, good luck." With that, she ends the conversation, and the group walks away.
I continue down the road. The city has been in view for some time now, so I can't get lost. Be rather embarrassing if I did! I follow the road past a stables, along the twisting entryway and across the drawbridge. As I approach the large wooden gates, I am stopped by one of the gate guards.
"Halt!" he calls. "City's closed with the dragons about. Official business only." I am on official business – kind of.
"I have news from Helgen about the dragon attack."
"Fine." He signalled toward the wall, and the gate began to open behind him. "But we'll be keeping an eye on you." He returned to his post, and I entered Whiterun.
The city was quiet at this time of evening – the sun was setting, the sky slowly darkening. A man wearing the armour of the Imperials was arguing with a woman wearing a blacksmith's apron outside the first building of the town.
"We'll pay whatever it takes, but we must have more swords for the Imperial soldiers." The man was saying, putting his fists on his hips.
"I just can't fill an order that size on my own." The smith responds. "Why don't you swallow that stubborn pride of yours and ask Eorland Grey-Mane for help?"
"Ha! I'd sooner bend my knee to Ulfric Stormcloak! Besides, Grey-Mane would never make steel for the Legion." Seems the divide in politics in this frozen country runs very deep for some.
"have it your way." The woman sighs, straightening from leaning against a post. "I'll take the job, just don't expect a miracle." The two parted, one heading up the street to my right, the other entering the shop behind her. I follow the road up to a market, and the inn looks very enticing, but I have a job to do. I never did cook that meal for myself – I even sold the meat and ingredients at the Riverwood Trader. Instead, I turn right, climb up some stairs and enter another circular area, centred by a massive dead tree. A temple stands opposite me on the left of a path up towards a castle, and on the other side of that path is an open-air shrine, backed by a large statue of Talos, spearing a large serpent-like creature with his mighty blade. Up another set of stairs is a building, the roof of which seems to be a wooden ship! I head towards the castle.
"Welcome to Dragonsreach." Proclaims a guard as I open the door and step into the warm interior. The throne lies on the other side of the great hall, up some steps and past two long banquet tables. Seated on the magnificent seat is a finely dressed man, whom I assume to be Jarl Balgruuf, but before I can approach, I am stopped by a fellow Dunmer, wearing well-kept leather armour and brandishing a sword in my face.
"What's the meaning of this interruption?" She demands. "Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors." Behind her, the Jarl and another fellow pause in their conversation and look our way.
"I have news from Helgen about the Dragon attack." I repeat my statement from before.
"Well, that explains why the guards let you in." Sheathing her blade, the dark-haired elf stands aside. "Come on then – the Jarl will want to speak to you personally."
As I approach the throne, the Jarl speaks.
"So, you were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"
I bow my head. "The dragon destroyed Helgen, and last I saw it was heading this way."
"By Ysmir, Irileth was right!" He turns his attention back to the other man. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?" I consider leaving, but something tells me that I should linger just a little longer.
"My lord," requests the elf. "we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains…"
The man addressed as Proventus speaks over her. "The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him."
"Enough!" the Jarl halted the argument before it began. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."
"Irileth put a hand to her heart. "Yes, my Jarl." She left, running down the hall and out the door.
"If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties." Proventus also left, leaving me and the Jarl alone.
"That would be best." The Jarl turned his attention back to me. "Well done. You sought me out on your own initiative." Well, not quite. At the urging of Gerdur, actually. "You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. Here, take this as a small token of my esteem." He holds out a cuirass, which I take and examine. It is Imperial armour, similar to that worn by the legionaries at Helgen, only this has chainmail on the shoulders. I stash it in my satchel, resolving to sell it later, as I am comfortable in the armour I currently wear.
"There is another thing you can do for me." Balgruuf continues. "Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps." Okay, I'm unsure where this is going, but I'll go along with it. "Come. Let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons, and…rumours of dragons." He rises from the throne and leads me to a room off the right-hand-side of the hall. This room has an alchemy lab and an enchanting table inside – my memory is getting clearer, but there is still much that is hidden from me – and dominated by a large table, at the end of which stands a board with a map of Skyrim pinned to it. Behind the table stands a Nord, most of his sideburned face hidden by the blue cowl he wears.
"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project." The Jarl gestures towards me, and the wizard directs his shadowed gaze at me. "Go ahead and fill her in with all the details."
Farengar rounded the end of the table. "So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? Oh, yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons. Yes – I could use someone to fetch something for me." Ah – so that is what Balgruuf meant when he referred to my 'particular talents'. Must be the armour. "Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there." Great. More killing. Still, it seems important, so I'm reluctant to say no. Especially when I seem to be rather good at this 'adventuring' thing.
"Alright." I agree. "Where am I going and what am I fetching?"
"Straight to the point, eh?" Farengar grins. "No need for the tedious hows and whys. I like that – leave those details to your betters, am I right?" I'm unsure whether to be insulted at that, so I let it slide. "I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow." Is everything in that place?! "A 'Dragonstone' said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet – no doubt interred in the main chamber – and bring it to me. Simplicity itself." Has this man ever been on a dungeon-delve? Clearing out a dungeon is no easy feat, as evidenced by the many tales of explorers heading off to a far off place, never to be seen again. Oh well, two birds with one stone, I guess. I can retrieve the golden claw and grab this Dragonstone in one trip.
"This is a priority now." Balgruuf comments. "Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons, we need it quickly, before it's too late."
"Of course, Jarl Balgruuf." Replies Farengar. "You seem to have found me an able assistant. I'm sure she will prove most useful." What am I, a farmer's rake? A sword? I'm a living, sentient being, you know!
Balgruuf returns his attention to me. "Succeed at this and you'll be rewarded. Whiterun will be in your debt." Well, I suppose that's alright then.
I leave the two, exiting Dragonsreach and returning to the marketplace, turning toward the welcoming doors of a building proclaiming to the weary traveller that it is 'The Bannered Mare'. I step inside.
"Come on in – just stoked the fire." Calls the innkeeper across the room. "Take a seat and get the cold out." I sit, and no sooner have I done so than a Redguard maid appears at my shoulder.
"You want a drink?" Not the most polite of maids, either.
"What's on the menu?" I and my stomach ask together.
"Depends. Are you thirsty, hungry, both?" She hands me a sheet of paper. I choose a salmon steak, a baked potato, with a sweetroll for after and an ale to wash it down. The food is cooked to perfection, and I gulp it down before it barely has time to cool. The ale is wonderfully cold by comparison, saving my throat from being burnt. I finish the sweetroll – delicious, as all food is on a long-empty stomach – and head to the bar.
"Speak, elf." Not as polite as her welcome, but I'm sleepy now, so I don't care.
"I'd like to rent a room."
"Sure thing. It's yours for a day. That'll be ten gold, please." I pay her the price. She rounds the end of the bar and begins to cross the common room. "I'll show you to your room – right this way."
I follow her up a set of stairs to a large room, dominated by a very comfortable looking bed. An open doorway leads to a balcony overlooking the common room. Beneath me, the bard has struck up a tune, leading the patrons in a chorus of 'Ragnar the Red'.
"Let me know if there's anything else you need." The innkeeper suggests as she leaves. Ignoring her, I flop onto the bed, not even bothering to remove my armour.