The Elder Scrolls V
SKYRIM
-The Return-
-Prologue-
Ten years.
Ten years of wandering Tamriel and finally I'm back. I honestly never thought I would have to climb the mountains of Cyrodiil once again to get retreat to my homeland. I had no wish of returning yet I felt a yearning that could only be answered by retiring my short-lived mercenary life and drag my ass back to Skyrim.
Yet this is what happened. With no wish of shedding any more of my victims' blood (let alone my own) I would only get back to the mountain-laid landscape and perhaps make a decent living with the career I would have pursued one way or the other; smiting.
It felt strange being back here. Maybe I would visit my wife and unborn child's grave in Karthwasten. I feel as if I owe them an apology to have left them there without turning my back once the burial was over...
Shor's Eyes! Why does this sinking feeling return every time I think about Saerthal... Her lush green eyes, dark complexion and beautiful swirly hair made me smile even when the times were harsh. I remember... Just before my departure, my old landlord commented that my eyes had no more shine to them... they seemed dead. Yeah, dead, just as my sweet lady from Hammerfell...
The sun was setting and as much as I knew I was almost done walking down the mountain, I knew I should set up camp. And so I did. The moons were rising and lit the clearing where I set up. A small fire crackled as I was warming goat cheese and bison soup.
I looked in my bag of belongings; a pickaxe for mining, varieties of ores to start off without paying too much and the rest of my earnings. I had the chance to collect a decent amount of gold yet I think that fame was more what I was looking for; something to make me feel as if I have achieved a goal, a waypoint, a milestone, but that was far from the actual results. I barely made a name for myself. I know the Dark Brotherhood contacted me a few times, but I did not wish to stay in the darkness. My methods were way too messy and prideful to be sulking with assassins.
I took out my old steel sword as I inspected it with a master's eye. It was the last remnant of my mercenary life; my armor, jewelry, bow, gifts and any other oddities that were given to me as an extra "thank you" were all sold. It did not matter anyway; all I ever cared about really was my steel. This blade saved my life more than once; wolves, bandits, bears, Spriggans and other magical beings were more often than not carved with my steel before they could even get a grip in me. Of course I made other types of weapons such as axes or spears, in a variety of materials ranging from the simple and puny iron to the more stubborn and mighty orichalcum. Alas, I kept this sword. Not worth much to anybody except me and that's what matters.
The moons were high in the sky when I finally fell asleep under the aura borealis of Skyrim's northern skies. I think that it's one thing that I missed the most here; the view. Let it be a bright sunny day where the mammoths walk around or a dark, blizzard night, the landscape was beautiful.