4E 11, Second Seed, Tavern in Cyrodil
The sun had fallen not that long ago and the rabble had already started to pile in the small wood sheltered tavern. "The Inn of Ill Omen". The name gave weight to my heart as true as it was. The only people to come in here were soldiers and rangers. Not that there was many coming in anymore, but it was packed that night. They were not Imperial which was odd, they were Nord. A whole large group of Nord warriors from Skyrim come to seek their fortunes. They began to order as much ale as they could, they barked at the old innkeeper who had let me live here in return for a helping hand. They weren't to happy to find that he only had two pints of mead, but they dealt with it.
After awhile I had helped the old man get drinks to all the warriors. A couple of them had started smoking some tobacco from pipes and were gathered arround a large table telling stories of anchient Nord heroes. They mentioned many Dovakins even ones that had fought at the Red Mountains.
"Saint Nerevar did not deserve to win that day. The Dovakin deserved this victory." A middle aged Nord bellowed. I quickly paced over to table and slammed my hand as hard as I could on its rough surface. As my hand hit the table lightning stuck out the window and thunder came rolling a couple seconds later. It was raining hard and it was simply dumb luck, but I got their attention.
"I am a davout follower of Saint Neravar and I will defend our honor. Apologize or defend yourself." I was wearing a cloak with the hood down.
"What's a middleage Breton worshiping that old sod for. Your scrawny. You got some magic you gonna pull on me?" I put my hands up in front of my body. The Nord stood up and through a left handed punch. It was slow so I easily deflected it down into table and backhanded him with my iron studded guantlets. He quickly fell to the ground and made a loud groan.
"Leave him be." One of the other Nords said. "Sit with us." The Nord who had falllen to the ground stood to his feet and got into his chair. I took a seat. "Tell this ignorant fool the hero story of Saint Neravar." The eldest of the Nords said sincerily.
"No. I won't." I told them sturnly. "I was once the incarnate's companion and I had ecompanied him to red mountain to Dagoth Ur, but you know that story though I may not be there in your version. The last time he spoke to me he went to Solstheim and never returned. He told me to stop telling his story and to forge my own. I soon learned how I would play into this world. When threatened by another. The names Sinnat Antabolis and the year was..."
3E 430 14th Loredas, First Seed