Part 1

"I'm telling you, I'm the darned Dragonborn!"

The men laughed at the drunken beggar. He was a form of entertainment on this forsaken night. The bards had all but written poems of the famed Dragonborn. Since the Greybeards had called, that name had been glued to every lip, surpassing even the wars between the Stormcloaks and Imperials.

The Moorside Inn had always been quiet. Except for the few travelers who stopped for the night, and the imperial guards stationed not far, its inhabitants were usually the folks of Morthal.

"Oh, the Gods are cruel!" Jonna the landlady yelled. "There's been another murder! Those damned assassins, staining my inn. It's already dirty as it is, but they come here with their blades and decorate the walls with blood!" She paced around, waiting for the guards, while the men gathered around the corpse.

"Aye. That's one of ours all right. Poor lad. Didn't get to wear the armor for long." The Imperial guards picked the body up and took him to be buried. "Here's a little something for you trouble, ma'am." the Imperial said leaving, filling Jonna's hand with a sack of gold.