Skyrim: a land of dragons, Nords, Falmer, and other various things that make the land special. As one of Tamriel's coldest areas, those who make the trek this far north often find the place unpleasant to live. Some survive, some do not, and sometime find ways to thrive. Those who are born and raised in the land of Skyrim fare slightly better than those who immigrate, but due to the equally cold climate of the terrain and populace, natives to the land are not guaranteed prosperity.
Overseen by the Divines and Daedra, the denizens of Skyrim, like all of Nirn, live as best as they can in a pseudo chess game of power. Sometimes, though, the Divines and Daedra like to come together and play a little side game to amuse themselves. This time the game comes in the form of a Nord in Skyrim named Pelfhe. Born under the sign of the Thief, the Divines and Daedra altered the usual inherent abilities of the sign and heritage to bless the boy with an unusual amount of luck. This blessing, however, is also a curse, as he is also unable to learn as well as the average intelligent being.
This is the legacy of Pelfhe the unusually lucky Nord.
Today is Middas, the 3rd day of Heartfire 4E 201. Pelfhe is 22 and wishes to leave his home. It is not his birthday, nor any day of particular excitement, but today seems like a good day. Today, Pelfhe decides he will do something outside his small village. He nods once to himself before opening the door to his home and walking through the doorway.
"Marm," he declares, "I'm leaving. I want to do something else. I want to go– to places. See Rimsky." He closes the door firmly, trying to sound confident to his taller mother.
"Skyrim," his mother corrects. "Skyrim, Pelfhe. How many times must I tell you?"
"Skyrim, Rimsky, it's the same thing isn't it? I mean there's a thing above us and an edge to it-"
"SKYRIM, Pelfhe. It's the land of our ancestors. We came here and named it such. No one will understand you if you don't call it that, son. They'll look at you like you're crazy sooner than they ought. Now listen. If your father were here he'd probably say no, but I still think he's crazy for joining the Stormcloaks with only a letter to say where he went. Oh, and don't go spreading that around okay? We have enough trouble here in Whiterun Hold as it is with the Frostbite Spiders, we don't need Imperials or even Thalmor coming down here with their anti-Talos Inquisition. This is going over your head isn't it?" she asks rhetorically, remembering mid-rant that Pelfhe's attention span and memory were both rather short. She turned away from activity of chopping leeks for her nearby stew to see her son to her right sitting at what they usually used for their dinner table.
Sure enough, he had already started analyzing an apple while she was washing the dishes and speaking her mind. Pelfhe's gray-brown eyes stared at the apple in his rough, calloused hand as he used his other to push a small lock of reddish blond hair out of his face. The lock caught on the brown stubble on his face and threatened to side back in front of his right eye. His eyes were a little closer together than usual, which gave him a permanently mildly confused appearance. The apple didn't seem to help matters because of how close he was holding it to his wind-worn face.
"Are you going to eat it, or talk to the bug in it?"
"BUG? EW! You eat it!" he exclaimed, throwing the apple to his mother clumsily. She reacted quick enough to catch it before it hit the handle of a knife laying on the table in front her. She sighed, with a small chagrin and began to cut up the apple.
"Look, there's no worm in it. Did you even see a hole for a worm to enter? I swear if I didn't wan– oh." As she was speaking, she sliced unexpectedly through a worm in the apple.
"Honestly, how do you do that. Whatever. Go on, go on a small adventure. Come home before you starve to death. Here's 50 Septims, and try not to spend it all in one place." Pelfhe grabbed the bag with glee, picking up another apple from the table basket as he hops out the door happily beginning his adventure.
-One Week Later in Riverwood-
"Well is there anything you CAN do? You need to pay for the past two days." The innkeeper was not happy. Not only did Pelfhe fail to bring the small package he was supposed to go get to pay for the day before yesterday, he also somehow found a way to get into the inn room for the night under the innkeeper's nose.
"Honest, sir, I don't know where that sack went!" Pelfhe pleaded to the innkeeper behind the counter.
"No, no. I'm done with excuses. Just find something to do to pay for what you owe. Do you know how to swing an axe at least?"
"Sure" Pelfhe said nonchalantly. How hard could it be? He'd seen people do it before. Somewhere. Wait, how did that go again? Axes… they…
"Alright, follow me. I've got some wood you can chop. Keeping this fire alive takes a bit of wood, and people will want to come in to get away from the snow off the mountain soon. Maybe a little honest work will be possible for you." The innkeeper walked around the bar and the stone fire pit in the middle of the inn to the exit with Pelfhe close behind. Outside, the innkeeper turned to the right to go to the right side of the building, where an old tree stump served as a chopping block, with a pile of tree segments lay next to a much smaller pile of chopped fire wood. In the stump was an aged axe, head lodged in the surface to keep the axe handle upward waiting for the next wielder.
"See what you can do. I'll be back in an hour or so," the innkeeper said as he walked away back into the inn. Pelfhe stared at the axe with a very perplexed look. This was not the object that he had thought it would be. Unfortunately, now he couldn't remember the name of the object of which he was thinking as it was clear that the name of that object was no longer "axe." How to use this item, he pondered.
After a few moments of strenuous thought, an idea came to him. Maybe, since the axe head was wedged into the surface, with similar divots in the stump around the middle, he should use it to make more divots! Maybe the purpose was to make divots in the stack of tree branch segments next to him! The revelation excited him: he finally guessed what signified which tree segments were fit for firewood and which weren't. Whichever he could put a divot into would be firewood, and the ones he couldn't dent would… would… well maybe that would become apparent later.
He excitedly jaunted a few steps over to the pile of tree segments and grabbed one ones in the middle. After a small wrestle to get it free, the pile shook lightly but didn't fall, leaving a hole in the middle of the pile. Satisfied, he turned to put the wood down on the stump, but the axe was in the way. Realizing his mistake, he then turned back to the wood pile to put it back: in the spot where he found it. More minor wrestling occurred, and again the pile shifted some without falling. Proud of himself, Pelfhe clapped his hands together to brush them off and turned back to the stump. Oh yes, the axe. He then moved to pull the axe out of the stump, but unfortunately the stump was unwilling to relinquish the axe to its new user. A few quick pulls brought the axe out of the stump, and Pelfhe stood a moment, triumphant in his battle with the stump to obtain the axe!
Placing the axe down, Pelfhe turned to once again remove the wood from the middle of the pile (it again shifting but not falling from the lack of support in the middle). He then put the tree segment down on the stump sideways and once again picked up the axe with much less struggle since the ground was much more accommodating than the stump. He then set to do his duty: putting a divot in the log. Excited he remembered the proper name of the tree segments in this process, he then grabbed the axe like a sword and swung the axe downward to the log to commence divot making! The axe did not share his enthusiasm and bounced off the log, sending the log rolling away. He dropped the axe in a panic to chase after the log.
On his way back to the stump, Pelfhe decided putting the log on the stump long ways up to make it more stable, or at least, less likely to roll away. Again he assumed his stance and swung the axe in the same fashion downward to the log. Again, the axe bounced off, but this time the log did not roll away, merely rocked back and forth a little before settling back, awaiting another strike. Success! Pelfhe, enjoying his victories, took a swing at the log again, this time jumping up slightly to get a wider arc and hopefully more speed into the swing.
CRACK!
The log accepted the divot! Unfortunately, the log accepted the divot so well, that the axe head actually made a divot almost halfway through the log. It was also lodged into the log, and Pelfhe could not remove it. He tried stepping on the log and pulling the axe head out. He tried kicking the log off the axe head. He tried kicking the axe handle. Running out of options, Pelfhe became frustrated and slammed the axe-log into the stump. This sent the axe head all the way through the log with enough force to send the right piece onto the firewood stack and the left piece equidistant to the left but not that far.
Surprised at the occurrence, Pelfhe tried to comprehend what just happened by blinking his eyes. This sometimes aided what some would consider his thought process until it hit him. His foot, to be precise, as he let go of the axe while thinking, it landed on his foot. With a yelp, he grabbed his foot and came to another realization. So much learning today! Maybe the divots were unnecessary, and the logs could just be split as is. He collected the wayward left piece, placed it on top of the firewood pile, and grabbed another log (from the middle of course, and the pile shifted again without falling) to try to split again. Pelfhe then picked up the axe, glaring at it for hurting him before taking his stance again and winding up to swing.
"What in the name of the Divines are you doing?"
Pelfhe yelped in surprise, dropping the axe on the innkeeper's foot who came up somewhat beside him. The innkeeper also yelped, did a small dance of pain, and looked at Pelfhe crossly.
"How many pieces did you chop like that?"
"Uhhh… 1?"
"One log?"
"Yeah."
"I'm surprised you even did that much. Okay, here, I'll show you how to swing that thing properly." The innkeeper bent over and picked up the axe, but only the handle came with it. The axe head and a few inches of the handle stayed on the ground.
"What did you do to my axe, boy! This is why you don – wait, hang on. This is rotted. How did you even swing this and split a log?" Pelfhe shrugged. He hadn't learned that yet today. "No matter, I'll get Viktor to put on a new handle. Have a seat on the stump; I'll be back in a minute." The innkeeper walked off with both parts of the axe, and Pelfhe did what he was told.
Moments later the innkeeper came back with an axe in one piece. One very pretty piece. The handle even had some pretty etching near the axe-head. The innkeeper looked at Pelfhe somewhat resolutely and took a deep breath. Pelfhe mimicked the action.
"Okay, now there are two ways to swing an axe, and both are overhead. Based on your stance you probably won't be doing it in the traditional Nord way. So here, get up, stand beside me, and watch. Put your non-dominant foot forward…"
At this time one of the Jarl's messengers appeared to come over the hill in the distance. He was jogging at a pace that hinted at importance. The Jarl of Whiterun from time to time sent messages of various importances to all minor towns in Whiterun Hold for a few reasons. Two major reasons were to remind the towns who was in charge of the area and who to go to for help when needed. With Whiterun being neither Imperial nor Stormcloak loyal yet, the Jarl wanted to be extra careful against either deciding to attack the Hold. His Housecarl's solution was to send messengers out with updates periodically, and he did so gladly but lazily.
One of these messengers arrived at Riverwood just as the innkeeper finished his axe-swinging tutorial and handed the axe to Pelfhe. Pelfhe took his stance as the innkeeper placed a log in front of him and stood to the side to watch Pelfhe's form. Just as he was about to swing, the Jarl's messenger stopped in the road some distance behind Pelfhe and took a breath to yell his salutation.
"GREETINGS. I HAVE COME FROM WHITERUN-"
*CRACK*
"TO DELIVER A MESSAGE FROM THE JA-"
What transpired was a very lucky and very awkward but predictable situation. Pelfhe swung downward at the log in an attempt to find the right spot in the log to crack it in two. Startled by the messenger's sudden announcement, Pelfhe's aim changed to a rather typical mistake of someone new to log-splitting: the corner. Due to the corner's rigidity, the axe normally bounces off without much trouble, but as Pelfhe's luck would have it, instead the axe handle broke. The etching he noticed earlier was actually a flaw in the wood. With the force of impact and the density of the log, the axe handle broke cleanly at the flaw and flew towards Pelfhe. Or it would have flown towards Pelfhe if he hadn't made another typical newbie to log-splitting and lost his balance forward. Instead of hitting Pelfhe in the shoulder, it wizzed past his ear and flew behind him in the middle of the messenger's speech.
The messenger's speech was cut short with a wet thud as an axehead intersected with his temple and pushing him over to the ground. A guard walking down the road towards the messenger quickly drew her sword and ran over to the messenger. He lay motionless in the road with an axehead sticking out of the temple of his forehead, blood slowly dropping down his face onto the road beneath his head. The blood pooled near his shoulder, slightly staining his humble shirt beneath the Whiterun tunic he wore. The guard grabbed the note from the Jarl and quickly spun around to see where the axe head came from and laid her eyes on the village innkeeper, eyes wide with terror, mouth hanging open with confusion. A few feet away from his feet laid an axe handle with the same color wood as the bit sticking out of the axehead.
"You there, innkeeper, come with me!"
"Wait, what? I didn't do it! It was this…"
Pelfhe was nowhere to be found. Two rough footprints and an axe handle were the only two signs that anyone beside the innkeeper was there at the chopping block. The guard took note of this briefly before dragging the innkeeper to the local Jarl with her shield hand. The innkeeper was too stunned and angry to protest properly and decided to just follow along with the guard's instructions. Hopefully his good reputation would be enough to clear his name.
And so Pelfhe began his haphazard trek into Skyrim by falling into the river behind Riverwood. Seeing what the axe-head had done, he lept forward, using chopping block and log as a vault to propel himself forward away from the situation. His legs seemingly did not appreciate this strategy and refused to properly handle the landing. Pelfhe then tumbled forward from his legs giving way. This rolled him head over heels onto the river bank with enough inertia to somehow catapult him into the river. Due to the swift current of the water, Pelfhe was too far away to be heard due to his flailing to keep himself afloat and a salmon in his mouth.
The Divines, Daedra, and Palegius Septim III chuckled. This side game was looking to be amusing.