My first fanfiction story, so I hope you enjoy it and I didn't mess up too badly. To give you a summary, it'll simply be following my original character through the "main quest" with my own interpretations of how that actually works. Reviews would be really appreciated, I enjoy feedback on all of my work
Small Cabin, East of Falkreath
Last Seed 24, 4E201
The tall standing oak and pine tree's had their branches swayed and leaves rippled as the mid-afternoon breeze ran through warm air, bringing a slight relief to the lone woodsman below, who was intently focused on the wood piece before him, on the chopping block. He was a large man for sure, definitely Nord although he was slightly less broad then some. His average shoulders were attached to a decently sized chest which in turn flowed into a slim and trim body, kept on the top of its finesse. His weathered hands, not a day over three decades old and yet already hard with calluses and bore signs of previous scarring and blisters were gripped around the worn wooden handle of his axe, which he swung down with little might and sundered the log into two pieces, which he then tossed into a pile which was slowly increasing in size. As the breeze moved through the tree's, the man paused and put his hand on his hip and set down his axe, taking up a opened bottle of warm ale and holding it on his lips for a small moment before pouring some of it's delicious contents into his mouth. He looked out over the trees and sighed as he drank, taking in the relaxing breeze and the scenery of the majestic tree's and then a few hundred meters to his left, the every lordly Jerall Mountains. His mind wondered briefly over the things he still had to do this day; finish chopping the chord of wood for the week, then there was the meat to tend to and the leather and hide's to be worked with. He quickly finished poured the last of the ale down his throat before turning around and walking back to his cabin. It was a simple cabin, nothing particularly special. It was about fifty yards long and maybe thirty wide with a decent roof and a covered front porch, as well as a side porch where he had a few tables and chairs set up. Usually he liked keeping the tables clear of anything, but at the moment one was covered in chunks of venison, at least a good dozen or so chunks that were about the size of a man's thigh, all already treated with a good dose of salt to help it stay preserved, though the man was hoping that later either tomorrow or maybe even tonight he could get a few of them smoked to ensure they could last even longer, after all, he only had a good four or three months to set in, and here up in the mountains, food was hard to get then.
As he approached one of the tables, he grabbed a simple iron dagger from the top of it and then looked at the deer carcass before him. It was a rather large one, male and it took two of his iron arrows before it finally came down. Must have had a thick skull, much like myself the man thought to himself quietly as he pulled on crude leather gloves and then gripped the dagger by the blade, just below the point. He then carefully insert the knife into the deer's flesh and made a small incision, carefully examining where the meat and the hide met and then carefully began separating the two, careful to use merely the point and a few centimeters of the blade on either side to skin the animal. Once the torso and flanks had been skinned, he then moved down to the legs and hooves area, where the small strips of hide would be handy for the construction of boots or leather strips. It took just about an hour for him to completely skin the large creature, it could have gone faster but he preferred taking his slow time to ensure no mistakes and that he got the whole hide. Once the hide was off, he set down the dagger and lifted up the carcass, pulling the whole hide out and then rolling it up, using some rawhide strings to tie it shut. He then set it down on top of a pile of similar hides, deer of varying sizes that numbered about half a dozen. He then grabbed a small jar of the white salt which was so precious to many within the province and began sprinkling some into areas of the meat and then rubbing it in with his gloved hands, sometimes making sure to put a little more on then needed perhaps. Once the salting process was complete, he took up a different dagger which had been on the floor and then began cutting the carcass into pieces, separating meat from bone and then wrapping the meat into a thin fur wrapping. He lost track of the time and was solely focused on getting the meat out of the reach of other animal's and fly's when he heard the rumble. It caused him to pause, and then he warily set the last piece of meat down on top of the others before straining to listen better, finally picking up on the sound, the constant drumming, the thunder. The thunder of hooves. He slowly crept, as if sneaking from an enemy, back to the back railing of the side porch and grabbed his worn oak short bow and the quiver of iron arrows, carefully strapping it around his waist before taking the bow in his left hand and slowly walking out to the second stair that led up to the porch, waiting as the sound got louder and louder, the numerous possibilities racing through his head. His cabin was quite secluded, built on top of a mountain bluff and far off of any known road, hunter's trail or beaten path. The fact that a rider was coming near it was no coincidence, it was aware of the cabin and its occupant and it made him wonder and possibly, even fear who it was. A old foe from his days in the Legion? An unknown and disgruntled enemy?
His questions were answered soon enough as a large chestnut mountain horse, the kind indigenous to the rough terrain of Skyrim, appeared over the bank that was about one hundred yards in front him. The horse slowed gradually as it pulled in closer, the rider now makeable. He was a tall man, Cyrodilic from the looks of his slim yet muscular frame and was garbed in full out Imperial plate that belonged to that of an Imperial officer, the Legion's trademark red collar sticking out and tightly closing around the base of his neck. He stopped his horse when it was about fifty yards from the cabin and the soldier dismounted and removed his helm, strapping it to his saddlebags and then began walking forward, one hand on his gladius on his left hip, the other arm just dangling by his side. When a distance of no more than twenty yards was between the two men, the legionnaire stopped, and forced a small smile "What, no warm welcome for your old friend Aenar? I know it's only been eight years, but I thought it was custom among friends to invite one to sit and ask if they wanted a drink "The smile on the officer's face had now grown onto a full on grin as he chided with Aenar.
Aenar gave the man a long glare before setting down his bow against one of the tables and walking over to the man so they were just a few feet apart, the two staring at each other before Aenar finally took the man's offered hand and shook it and then departing back to his porch, collapsing into a chair as his flax shirt stuck to the sweat on his back. "Well, I've never been one for customs Adventus, but would you like to sit down and have some warm ale?"
Adventus shook his head with a grin before trudging over to a wooden chair next to Aenar, pulling it up beside him before sitting down in it, slightly leaning forward with his arms on his lap as he took the offered bottle of ale from Aenar and played with it in his hands, taking the odd sip now and then. The pair sat in silence for a few minutes, Aenar reclining in the chair enjoying the drink and the breeze, before Adventus cut it short "So, this is what my favorite legionnaire turned out to do after the campaign in Black Marsh."
Adventus's voice dropped to a low volume before he continued "Was it really that bad down there that you came all the way out to this isolated rock?"
Aenar sighed, took a swig from his ale, and took a look at his old legion mate. Adventus and he had a history, albeit a shorter one then Adventus led most on to think of. They had been in the same training unit when they entered the legion, the only difference being that Adventus because he was a full blood Imperial was of a higher rank then him. The two got along indifferently, until a fateful morning in 187 when on a training exercise, Aenar questioned the orders of his centurion, whose orders would have led to getting the century slaughtered; the man was naturally insulted and would have had Aenar punished if Adventus had not stepped in supporting Aenar's objection. Aenar's suggested plan saw them win the exercise. Of course, the gods did not let them be apart for long, for while they were separated after they formally finished training, they were reunited under the 5th Legion which was the primary force that led the campaign to retake Black Marsh. The fighting had been… different, if not easy. The Legion took losses, but not as many as were expected and the Argonian resistance was incredibly weak, all though they did manage to delay the Empire from completely annexing the province until 192, just four years after the invasion begun. Aenar played, in his mind, a rather minor role; he had been assigned to a rag-tag scout unit that often scouted out the marshes ahead of the legion's vanguard. He was aware many of the officers were awed by the performance of the unit, especially after it's commander was killed and Aenar took over; however he refused to return to Cyrodil, he had seen enough of war, enough of the bloodshed; he merely wanted peace. Peace, and home.
"You were there Adventus, you tell me."
Adventus ignored the subtle jab; as the commander of a cohort, Adventus rode in the middle of the formation and didn't see much battle or fight at all really. Meanwhile, Aenar fought quite heavily and often without reinforcements. "It wasn't my decision, I simply followed orders. Besides, your unit was praised to the Emperor, I don't see why you didn't return, he most certainly would have made you an off-"
"I did not want to see any more blood Adventus, I had seen enough and split enough of it. No, all my life, I have been groomed for a career in the Legion, it's all my mother would ever talk about it and all she would let me think about. No, I just wanted to come home. Come home and find some peace."
Adventus sighed and quickly finished the rest of his ale before reaching underneath his plate armor and pulled out a wooden scroll holder, engraved with Imperial markings. He opened the tube's end and a scroll fell out, sealed in bright red wax with the Imperial dragon. He played with it in his hands for a bit before handing it to Aenar and then standing up and making for his horse, only briefly stopping before he hit the stairs and looked back at Aenar for a few brief moments "General Tullius sent me here because he needs help against this damnable rebellion. You were one of the best strategists I have ever seen, and the Legion needs you. If you decide to act on his offer, be at Castle Dour no later than the start of the new month. Show the guards the scroll."
Aenar chuckled "The new month? That's a week away, only way I'll get across the province in a week is by carriage, which I can't use unless the Empire is graciously funding this."
Adventus gave a look of defeat and detached a small pouch from his belt and tossed it towards Aenar, it landing with a clink of the metal coins inside as it landed on his lap. Aenar nodded to the man as he quickly departed and remounted his horse, galloping away from the cabin and leaving Aenar to pondering a sack full of gold. He set his drink down onto the porch floor, underneath his chair, while he leaned forward, pondering what to do. He had left the Legion life a long time ago, but now a friend, who was a friend whether Aenar liked it or not, was tugging on his heartstrings with the 'legion needs you' spiel. He looked up at the sky, more specifically the sun and determined that he had about four hours of sunlight left, possibly just enough to get to Falkreath. From there, he could use Adventus's gold to hire a carriage, but if he was leaving, he had work to do here.
He walked inside of his house and began closing the interior wooden shutters on all of his windows before locking them tight, cutting off all light inside the small cabin except that put off by the modest amount of candles he had lit. He walked towards the ladder which gave way to his basement where his bed and a few chests where. He made towards his bed and then got on his knees and reached under the bed, pulling out a dust covered wooden chest. He fumbled with the lock as he undid it and open the top, revealing a worn leather cuirass, one he had purchased last year for bear hunts or in case of bandits, and grabbed a steel sword that lay beneath it. He pulled the wet flax shirt off of his torso and grabbed a red one, thinking it fitting, out of his wardrobe before pulling on the cuirass itself and tightening it's fitting strings. He then took the steel sword with its attached belt and carefully fastened around his waist. He ran his hands over the armor and nodded before grabbing a small sack and he stuffed a few smoked beef pieces and apples into it. He threw the sack over his shoulder and made his way to the porch, where he spent about twenty minutes getting everything inside and then he bolted up his cabin and set off, hoping it did not rain while on his way to Falkreath.