There are stories about the bards of old, chroniclers that recorded the antics of those such as Ysgramor, and Tiber Septim himself. They revelled in recording gruesome, heroic acts, performed even when the men had come to Tamriel from Atmora in the Ancient Days. These Bards, however, were not campfire-dwelling, gold-hungry buskers; who exploit merchants and patrons. No. They fought with honour and glory at the shoulder of many legendary heroes; as the sword and shield, or faithful steed. Combat is an art, just as music. Only once the final strum of malevolent heartstrings has faded away, would a Bard strum the gut strings of a lute, filling the air with the most blissful sounds known to man or mer. From all across Tamriel, people would come- to the frozen northern province of Skyrim-to hear the sounds crafted within the Bard's College in Solitude.
That was, until the war changed everyone's lives forever. Tore our families apart; turned brother against brother, student against teacher. The Stormcloaks, believing they are true sons and daughters of Skyrim; the Empire, imposing laws and restrictions upon the people of Skyrim. A bloody, brutal, civil war had begun, with the innocents stuck in the middle. Solitude being the Imperial capital of Skyrim, it was too dangerous for most to show their faces here. As well as this, the Bard's College had received a bad reputation, since we train pupils in the art of speech, which some believe is connected to the Th'um, the magical force harnessed through the tongues of dragons. As the war had in essence been caused by Ulfric Stormcloak, a nord prisoner, harnessing the th'um to murder the high king, Torygg, and sparking a revolution of sorts. Some believe we in the Bard's College taught him this knowledge and are thereby frowned upon and seen as slightly rebellious among imperials and most elves. Suffice it to say, we have not been getting as much business as before and must prove our worth before we are put out of business by lack of gold, or we are forced onto the streets by the Imperial Government.
My co-workers and I have been busy thinking of ways to re-gain our glory within the complex politics. Indeed, so much so, that many of our instruments are sitting gathering dust and slipping out of tune in the storerooms. One night, as I was making my way back to the College after revelling in the Winking Skeever, I was approached by a courier. He was unmissably so, clad from head to toe in sodden green clothes, with muddied leather boots and a satchel slung over his shoulder. He hailed me:
"Sir, I have a letter here, from, I believe, an acquaintance named Kyet in Cyrodil."
I smiled, recalling a student I had previously trained.
"It had an emerald wax seal, I was told not to look Sir."
I nodded in understanding as he handed me a letter and remarked, speaking humbly:
"Looks like that's it, got to go."
"Farewell" I acknowledged, as he turned and jogged away, towards the main gate. Excited as I was to read the letter, I decided it was best to take it back to my rooms at the College where I could relax and consider the contents with more ease. Upon pulling on the goat's head knocker to open the door, I relished briefly in the candlelight and warm air, before locking the door, and proceeding, through the annex, up the blue-carpeted stairs to the door of my Professor's Suite. My curiosity finally took the better of me as I raced past the crystal chandeliers towards my study at the end of the corridor. Excitedly, I prized off the seal with a small eating knife I found on my desk. As the candlelight shone on the piles of sheet music and empty bottles, I unfolded the letter and began to read:
'Dear Viarmo,
While pursuing my barding career within the Imperial City, I was doing some research for that problem you told me about I and encountered some records of a most interesting and fruit-bearing artefact, used by the Bards of old. The Bardic Blade. I do not know where it can be found, but I assume from records around its time, it will be located within a province of men, or at least not far off the boarder. The trouble is, it was probably buried or lost within some ancient tomb or ruin which would be incredibly treacherous and dangerous to venture into. I however- after some further research- have learned about a, Bosmer adventurer within Skyrim who might be persuaded to lend her services. To find her, you must merely know this: she goes by the title of Dragonborn. Perhaps we could provide her with more knowledge about her ancient and mysterious power- and how to use it more effectively. With this bargaining tool in hand, the Bard's College will be back to its former glory in no time. Please reply with your thoughts and any further updates. Farewell, friend, and may we meet again soon.
Sincerely, Kyet, of the Bard's College.'