Chapter One

Fredas, 14th of Last Seed, 4E 201, Hammerfell, Noon-ish

I'm on my way to Morrowind from my home in Skaven. I was actually on my way to Elinhir, but had a disagreement with a few Alik'r there, and have since moved on. I'm just outside of Elinhir at the moment, and I found this journal in the bottom of my pack, under my great grandmother's journal. I have since forgotten what I might have gotten it for, but I guess, starting now, I 'll record my journey to Morrowind and my adventures there.

My great grandmother, Ven'Aak, used to keep a journal when she lived in Cyrodiil. She died, of course, and her journal went to her son, my grandfather, Lok'Vahl. I don't think I'll ever be as famous, or infamous, as Ven'Aak, or even my great grandfather, Martin. He died before Lok'Vahl was born. Moral of the story, don't mess with Daedra. Anyway, Great Granny Ven'Aak was actually a member of the Blades back in the day. As for me, I'm just an adventure seeker. I probably won't be written down in any historical prints any time soon.

The sun is moving on from noon, so, my break is over. The Alik'r will be looking for me soon.

Saqho-Yol

Saqho-yol stowed her journal back in her belt-bag and shrugged on her cloak. She slung her tavel bag over har shoulders and set off with a glance through the trees at the city of Elinhir, ice blue eyes flashing. She took about twelve paces before she came to the road, and realized she was now mostly lost.

She fished in her travel bag and brought out three maps: one of Hammerfell, one of Skyrim, and one of Cyrodiil. She quickly figured not to go through Cyrodiil – too many Imperial Soldiers would wonder why she had the skin of a Redguard but the face of an Imperial, a long story she had no time, and would probably be imprisoned, for. She stashed the map back in her bag and turned her attention to Skyrim. The first thing she noticed was a road that ran through south Skyrim, from Hammerfell to Morrowind almost directly. The proximity of Elinhir to Falkreath made her hopeful. She'd be at the border in about a day.

"Excuse me," came a too-familiar voice from somewhere to her left. She didn't look, up, stashing the maps back into her bags.

"Hey, you with the cloak, are you in a hurry?" he said again.

Saqho-yol looked up just enough to see the two Alik'r warriors walking down the road. She kept the left side of her face covered by the hood of her cloak.

"Can I help you?" she said, mimicing a Nordic accent to the best of her ability.

"Actually, I think you can," the one on the right said, "have you seen a Redguard come up this way? Looks like an Imperial, eyes like a Nord, and three scars under her eye?"

Saqho-yol stood carefully, slouching slightly to try and hide her height – and the hilt of her scimitar – and turned away from the two Alik'r.

"No, I'm sure I haven't. Have a nice day, you two." She waved over her shoulder, and tried not to take off running.

Unfortunately, the Alik'r didn't buy it. They were at her back in an instant, and one of them tugged her hood off. Saqho-yol glanced over her left shoulder, and ran. Even over her boots slapping the ground she could hear the sound of scraping metal. She didn't reach for her own sword – carrying it and running would just slow her down – but instead broke into a sprint and headed into the woods. She wouldn't be able to keep up the pace for very long.

Before she could worry about it much, Saqho-yol came to a cliff, and halted dead in her tracks. It was a sheer drop, with very few rocks on the way down. She looked behind her, she didn't see the Alik'r, but she could hear them thrashing through the pines. She looked down the cliff again, and jumped for the first closest rock.

She landed hard. Her foot slipped off the edge, and she fell. She hit the ground on all fours with a grunt of pain. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her vision blurred slightly. She figured she must have just broken something, but then realized that the air had been knocked out of her, and she gasped. She heard the Alik'rs' boots scudding on the edge of the rock at the top of the cliff, shuffled herself under a very small outcropping, and waited, still trying to wheeze air into her shocked lungs.

"She must've gone a different way." She heard, muffled, from the top of the cliff. Some trick of acoustics made the voice sound like they were right in front of her.

"Yeah, probably followed that game trail back there."

Saqho-yol held her breath – it wasn't hard – until she heard the shuffling of boots break into a run and fade off. She didn't breathe again until the sound was gone completely.

Rolling out from under the rock, she breathed a sigh of relief, and cast a small healing spell on herself. Saqho-yol wasn't much of a Restorationist, or any kind of mage at all for that matter, but she knew at least the basics. She sat up slowly, still not fully healed from the fall. She tested her legs carefully. She could still walk, thank the Nine, but she had a bit of a limp and couldn't run quite as fast as she'd like.

To make matters worse, she now had no idea how to get back to the main road. She looked up the cliff face and briefly considered climbing it. The idea of slipping again, this time potentially to her death, gave her serious pause.

The sound of footfalls in sand and grass at the top of the cliff decided it for her. Saqho-yol glanced at which way the sun was sinking to determine west, and struck off along the base of the cliff in the opposite direction. Hopefully, she'd either find Falkreath or the road if she went along long enough. It was already mid-afternoon; she took longer than she would have liked with the maps and the healing.

By the time dusk fell, Saqho-yol was fairly certain she'd lost the Alik'r, but she'd gained a new problem: up ahead, settled into a clearing, was some kind of camp. Probably military, she decided, based on the horses and the number of tents.

For now, she ignored them, and went a bit backward into the woods to a clearing she'd seen earlier. She quickly made a small fire and unhooked the bedroll from the bottom of her pack. After a few attempts at sleep, she gave up and took out her journal.

Loredas, 15th of Last Seed, 4E 201, Skyrim Border, slightly past midnight

Been walking all day, and I couldn't get a break from the Alik'r until about an hour before sunset. Oh well. I am a little ways off from some kind of military camp or something. I can't tell if they're Imperials, Alik'r, or just brigands. There are about ten that I've been able to count, but, I'm not looking to hard.

I have come to the border of Skyrim, I think. For some reason, I feel a bit anxious, excited, and maybe even afraid to start the probably short journey across the south end of the province. I hope that I'm somewhere southwest of Falkreath, or if not, at least close to the road. My plan is to wait until the soldiers are distracted, and slip past them to try and find said road. Then, I'll need to head notheast toward Helgen.

Saqho-Yol

Saqho-yol looked up, tense, when she heard a rustle in the bushes just beyond the light of her small fire. Her hand immediately went to her scimitar. She waited.

"So, are you an Imperial?" Came a man's voice from the same location as the rustle. A mid-sized guy, with shoulder-length blonde hair and a bit of a beard, stepped into the light with his palms out. Definitely a Nord.

"No. I'm a Redguard." Saqho-yol replied, rather coldly. Rumor had it that Nords were a pretentious folk, and didn't care much for outsiders.

"My name's Ralof, traveler," He said, stepping closer, "What are you doing camped out so close to us?"

She eyed the Nord warily, trying to decide how much to tell him. Ralof looked around anxiously.

"I'm trying to find out if you're a spy for the Empire. Jarl Ulfric sent archers out when he saw your campfire, and they have their bows aimed at you." He whispered.

"I'm not a spy, I just settled over here because I couldn't tell if you were Imperials or Alik'r or what." Saqho-yol finally said.

Ralof let out a breath and called loudly, "She's a Redguard, and just as suspicous as us of the Imperials." Over the sighing of the wind in the trees, she heard several small knocks of wood on wood as arrows were put back into quivers.

"Look, I'm sorry for the trouble. You can stay here, if you want..." Ralof said, eyeing the cliff above them, "Or you can come stay in the camp. Saftey in numbers and all that."

She considered for a few minutes, Ralof stood patiently, waiting. Finally, Saqho-yol nodded, and gathered her things for the short trek to Ralof's camp. She stomped out the fire and motioned for the Nord to lead the way.

When Ralof and Saqho-yol stepped into camp, a man in a big fur cloak looked up at them, and scowled.

"What do we have here, Ralof?" he said, in a deep, semi-monotone voice.

"This is..." Ralof started, turning to Saqho-yol.

"My name is Saqho-Yol. I was just passing through." she finished.

"So, you brought a Redguard into a Stormcloak camp?" The fur-cloaked man's voice rose slightly in volume, and Ralof took a small step back. The Redguard in question held her ground.

"I asked her if she needed a place to camp out for the night, so she wouldn't get attacked by wolves in her sleep." He said, defensivly.

The man with the cloak stood up and turned away. "I'll let Galmar deal with you when we get back. For now, I'll be in my tent. Keep an eye on her."

Ralof let out a breath as the man ducked into a hide tent and let the door-flap down. He turned to Saqho-yol and shrugged.

"He's always like that. You might want to find a place out of the way to put your bedroll."

Saqho-yol nodded, she never said much unless she needed to, and picked a spot under a tree behind one of the tents. It would do well enough.

Later

I was found by someone from the camp, says his name is Ralof. Apparently, it's a Stormcloak camp. Whatever that means. Ralof appears to be the only one here who is actually treating me like an adult and not some wild dog. I haven't been in Skyrim for half a day, and I already know that Nords do not like my kind. I will leave at dawn, if I have my way. Ralof is nice, but not that nice.

Saqho-Yol

Saqho-yol was awoken at just past dawn by the clattering of steel. She was immediately up and out of her bedroll, and was about to draw her sword when she realized she was in her bedclothes – basically rags – and her sword belt wasn't around her waist. She looked arround, crouching, sneaking around the side of the tent and assessing the situation.

Imperials.

The Stormcloaks were outnumbered at least three to one. Even if she helped, it wouldn't be enough to beat all of them. Worst case, they'd all die, best case they'd all be captured.

Saqho-yol looked back at her bedroll and her belongings. Quickly and quietly, she strapped on her sword belt, slipped on her cloak, and dashed away through the trees, probably toward the border. She ran out of breath too quickly, and half jogged, half stumbled the rest of the way to the road. Not paying any attention, she stopped on the cobblestones to catch her breath.

"Hey, we've got a Stormcloak over here!"

"Get her!"

The voices came all at once and Saqho-yol looked up sharply. Three Imperials were running at her, swords drawn. She backed up quickly, hand going immediately to her sword handle. Then, she considered: three of them, they were trained to fight, and she had no energy left from the sprint over.

She stopped, dread filling her gut, and raised her hands, palm out. The Imperials stopped, the leader sheathing his sword and walked toward her.

"Now, come along nice and easy, and we won't have to get rough, hmm?"

Saqho-yol resisted the urge to spit in his eye. Instead, she remained silent as the Imperial shucked off her cloak and her sword belt. After a brief inspection of her belt bag containing only the journal and a case of a few charcoals, he let her keep it. He was about to bind her hands, but was interrupted.

"Wait, she might have a knife in those boots, Captain," One of the other Imperials said.

At this, the 'Captain' pushed Saqho-yol onto a large rock and took off her boots. One of the other tossed her a pair of footwraps. Saqho-yol glared at him.

"Would you rather walk to the wagon in your bare feet, Redguard?" said the Captain.

Saqho-yol shrugged and tied the wraps around her ankles. The Captain proceeded to tie her hands roughly in front of her and shoved her along the road. She stumbled, and glared over her shoulder at him. The two other Imperials led the way, and Saqho-yol followed quietly and only at a slightly slower pace. She was tall, but didn't stretch her legs much – walking in footwraps was odd to her.

She got loaded into the back of an empty wagon, and was instructed to wait.

"So, why's a Redguard fighting with the Stormcloaks?"

The cart driver was greeted with a long silence. Saqho-yol had learned over the years to be a quiet person. Or rather, she learned not to talk unless she actually had something to say; a few rather embarrassing occurances in her youth saw to that.

The driver nodded and turned back to the horses. Not five minutes later, the rest of the Imperials came out of the woods, dragging the Stormcloaks along behind them. Ralof, the guy with the fur cloak – who now had a strong gag over his mouth – and a scruffy-looking man she hadn't seen at camp, got thrown into the cart with her. In the cart next to theirs, the only other one Saqho-yol could see, four more were tossed; a woman, two Nords, one with blonde hair and one with brown, and parhaps a Breton. She couldn't see any of their faces, at least not in detail. She heard the brown-haired one say something about, "that damned Kahjit."

The cart lurched into motion when the driver flicked the reighns, and they started up the road. Nobody talked, there was nothing really to say. A few times, the driver and Ralof had brief conversations, but as Ralof got more uncomfortable, the driver got more rude.

They traveled on through Falkreath, recognizable by the buck insignia on the flags, at about dusk. The carts had to stop for the night for reasons that Saqho-yol payed no attention to. She just lulled her head back to watch the stars. She'd never seen the Northern Lights before, and took it to be a good omen that it was so strong this south.

She didn't sleep much through the night. Fear of Imperials and thoughts of home kept her awake. She thought of how her Great Grandmother, Champion of Cyrodiil, started out as a common theif. Picking pockets and making shady deals to make ends meet. Eventually, she got caught, but on the first day of her imprisonment, the late Emperor had to make an escape through her cell. She eventually went on to basically save the world. Multiple times over. When she found herself pregnant, she settled down a bit.

Fate played tricks on people. Saqho-yol wondered if fate had brought her to Skyrim for some reason, by the simple expediant of, she was now branded as a criminal. History reapeats itself, she thought.

The next day, the Imperial Prison Escort set out late in the morning. Saqho-yol entertained herself most of the day by listening to the brown-haired Nord in the front cart tell stories of his former home in Cyrodiil. The other three weren't paying too much mind to him, but Saqho-yol kept comparing his descriptions to ones in Ven'Aak's journal.

Eventually, the brown-hair talked himself out, and fell silent. It was getting on to be dusk, and they were almost halfway to Helgen. Saqho-yol sighed and watched the trees pass in front of the clouds and darkening sky for a while, before the past days' lack of sleep caught up to her.