PROLOGUE

I was feeling a bit guilty at first, I admit. I do believe that old man has some sort of holy crusade laid out in my future, but he should have asked me about it, first. I'm not a fetching gofer, after all. It's not my problem that the man didn't have himself taken care of for when he died. Isn't that what an Emperor is supposed to do? Take care of his empire? Verily, it's not my concern to fix the matters that the twit left behind.

Perhaps I shouldn't be so harsh. Maybe stop calling him "twit", at the very least. It is because of him that I'm out of prison, after all, whether that was his intention or not.

But I've already gotten ahead of myself. No doubt you're confused. Well, then, I'll just start from the beginning. A quick, painless summary: short and sweet, just the way I like it.

My name is Frevvyn, and I'm a Dunmer. I was born on the island of Vvanderfell, but most of what has happened prior to, say, about three days ago is rather obsolete. You don't care to hear about it, and I don't care to talk about it. Though, I suppose I should make a quick note of a rather ridiculous run in with the law I've had as of late. Two weeks in prison for horse thievery, can you believe it? An unfair accusation as well, but that hardly mattered to the Guard.

Dunnmer, remember? Our lot is made up of troublemakers and whores, or so I was kindly reminded upon arrest.

Fetching Imperials.

And the prison was filthy. Hardly a place to sit down without getting covered in straw and dust, and a stinking, rotting old thing as a mattress. I had a small window, but it was too high to be able to look through. Smelling the air from outside was awful, though. I love being outside. In the days before my arrest, I would sometimes spend the entirety of the day outside, taking cuttings from various plants for alchemy. I adore alchemy.

Again, I digress.

What I meant to mention in the beginning (when I spoke of the window), was that my cell was one of the only ones with such a commodity. It was something that my cell neighbor was always quite put out over.

I suppose Valen Dreth deserves some sort of mention here. That was my neighbor's name, by the way. He was a Dunmer as well, but much older than I am. I don't think Valen's playing with a full deck of cards, either. The creature had the most outrageous, shiver-inducing giggle I've ever heard. I do swear he was insane. I didn't much like talking to Valen, but unfortunately, Valen liked talking to me.

"Kinsman" was his favorite way to address me. And he'd always say it loudly, usually banging on the bars of his cell if I didn't respond quickly enough. Valen was a bully, and I hate bullies. I've never met such an unpleasant creature in my life, as insulting as he was. Fetching idiot even went so far as to accuse me of being a boy lover on one occasion. Well. It's not my fault if my face is a bit feminine. Not that there's anything wrong with that anyway… Damnit.

I seem to be having trouble keeping myself on track.

Nevermind about Valen. He's no kinsman of mine. Well, he is, but he isn't.

Nevermind.

You know what, I don't even feel like talking about this anymore. To make a long story short (and wasn't that my intention to begin with?), the former Emperor needed to make a quick escape from the city, via a passage in my cell. Well. You know how that turned out, don't you? Dead as a doornail. And then the man had the nerve to ask me to tie up his loose ends, deliver his special, ceremonial trinket.

Do you know how far of a walk it is from the Imperial City to Chorrol? Not a pleasure stroll, I assure you. Besides, hardly my fault that the man got himself assassinated. But we've been through this before, haven't we? Don't mind me if I vent a bit.

Well. Moving forward.

I've never been too sure of the limits of the human mind, but now's the time to test it. Let's play "make believe," shall we? It's a children's game, with a childish concept. You should have no problem following along. Now, imagine, if you can, living in a prison cell for two weeks. Now, imagine stepping outside, feeling the wind on your face and the grass beneath your feet: the last thing you'd want to do, I'd imagine, would be to scamper off to Chorrol, correct? Well, I wasn't in much of a mood for that, either.

So, I didn't go. I still haven't gone. I don't know if I ever intend on going. There were much more pressing things on my mind: take food, for instance. And money. I've never been very wealthy, but I know how to take care of myself when the need arises. Remember what I told you about alchemy? I like it, and, if you don't mind me tooting my own horn for a moment, I'm rather good at it. Good enough, even, that I've been able to fund my own set of armor, and a bow.

I'm a fair shot with an arrow. I've collected a good number of wolf furs to prove it, too. I even managed to catch a couple of deer night before last. Personally, I don't like venison, but it's a fine ingredient for some strong potions.

Sweet Azura, this is getting to be such a mess. I do beg your pardon, really, I do. I'm quite aware of the fact that right now, my writing is getting nowhere. I do have something to tell you. Really.

Wait a moment. There's something I want to tell you, before I finish bringing you up to date. I'm not a bad person. No, really, I'm not. Have a little faith in a Dunmer, will you? Now, just remember that. It'll be important later. Remember: Frevvyn is a good person. Onwards.

Do you know a black thoroughbred costs five thousand septims? It's absolutely outrageous. What does this have to do with anything, Frevvyn, you may ask. Well, I'll tell you. I walked, walked, all the way to Cheydinhal, from the Imperial City, and through Skingrad, and onwards. I thought I might collect some ingredients, brew a few potions, and sell them as I went along. If I stopped in Cheydinhal for a horse, I could make double time back to the Imperial City, make myself famous in the Arena, and then perhaps I could see to the Twit's little errand.

So, imagine my dismay when I discovered that my some three thousand septims wasn't enough to buy me a horse. It made me quite angry, I can assure you. And sometimes, I do stupid things when I lose my temper. Mostly, I start fights. No different this time.

Now, there are a lot of things I could say to try and sugarcoat what I'm about to admit to you, but I've always been a rather straightforward kind of person. I will say, in my defense, that I didn't really mean to start a brawl with the obnoxious fetcher, and I certainly hadn't intended for the ordeal to escalate into a full-blown fight. Circumstances being what they were, that's what happened.

I killed a man. A Dunmer, actually. Seemed to be some sort of traveling merchant, and had a nasty temper. I got into an argument with him, it escalated into blows, and—Do you know what? That fetcher started lobbing ice at me. Powerful, magical stuff. Hardly of a level for someone who was just a traveling merchant, but it's a good enough excuse for the fact that I notched an arrow and shot that bastard right between the eyes.

I told you I'm a good shot with an arrow. Now he knows it, whoever he was.

Remember what I told you before? Frevvyn is a good person. I'm a good person. And killing that Dunmer didn't make me feel particularly good about myself, but that didn't keep me from taking his boots and his coin purse. Practicality, practicality. And besides, he wasn't going to use them anymore.

And suddenly, old Frevvyn had enough septims for a horse. The gods work in mysterious ways.