Adventure began calling to me from a very young age. Perhaps it was my Bosmer blood aching for movement, or maybe it was simply a trait of the Floramers. My father brought me to the newly settled Gweden Village in Cyrodiil before I was old enough to remember anything of Valenwood. The pace of the small village was enough to make me constantly test my boundaries. I made my family insane with how many times I tried to run away.
Finally, one day I made my escape from the dawdling pace that was the farming village life. I broke out of Cyrodiil all together and traveled north to the icy plains of Skyrim. It took me a bit of time to venture far out of the south of Skyrim, since I told myself I needed to visit every city, town, and village I marked on my map and follow up on all rumors I was told of. I also made what little coin I carried by retrieving random items and occasionally ingredients for people.
I had already been exploring for a few months in Skyrim when I came across my most significant discovery yet. I was finding my way back to the road north of Falkreath. I had sought out the Lady Stone on its small island in Lake Ilinalta. While I was there, I ran my hand over the standing stone's rough surface and felt the engraving. I had read once that you could connect yourself with a standing stone through the magical bond of blood. I couldn't think of any other way to test this theory then to cut the palm of my hand – in hindsight, I probably could've cut a less used part of my arm to get the same affect – and smeared the blood over the engraving. I could feel the flow of life energy stream through me as I became magically connected with the Lady that looked down upon Nirn. I could almost see the slice in my flesh begin healing already and I felt as if I could walk through the night.
On a whim, I decided to take the southern road from Falkreath to Whiterun that I found marked on my map. As the sun started to sink to the horizon that day, I decided I would wander off the beaten path to the southern side of the road to make camp. After a walk up a steep slope, I found a picturesque plot of land that overlooked the distant Lake Ilinalta. I could barely see the sunset glinting off the water to the north. I gathered what large rocks I could find to create a barrier for my campfire and then set up my animal skin tent. As I roasted a mudcrab over the fire, I noticed lights on a nearby ridge. A smile crept across my face as I knew I would have something new to see come the morn.
It wasn't long until I could feel chill sink to my very bones. As an elf in Skyrim, my tolerance to the cold hadn't been developed yet. My blood yearned for the tropical climate I heard tale of in Valenwood. Even Gweden in southern Cyrodiil stayed temperate. I laid in my bedroll, thankful for the extra furs I bartered off some Khajiit, and imagined what the farmers back home were doing. They lived such mundane lives, I felt as if I could predict their movements. Wakeup, eat, farm, eat, sleep. Nothing exciting happened. On occasion I would have the opportunity to travel into the nearby cities of Anvil or Kvatch to pick up necessary supplies. I found Kvatch the more interesting of the two. If I was given the option, I would choose to travel there for the history alone. Nineteen years before my birth, Kvatch nearly crumbled during the Oblivion Crisis. The scars of burnt rock and brick could still be seen mixed with the new stone that was used in its rebuilding.
Once, when I wandered off from my home in my younger years, I was lucky enough to come across an Oblivion gate that had yet to be found. Most gates had already been torn down or crumbled by that point in time. Around the gate was an overgrowth of bloodgrass and harrada, which I had been told were once rare finds before the Crisis. The harsh plants and begun growing around and into the old frame of the gate and were causing it to weaken. Half of one side had already slid to the ground. I carefully reached my hand out and touched the Oblivion stone, fearful that it may be as hot as I had been told the plane of Oblivion was. However, the stone was only sun-soaked warm. The gate had become an artifact of another time – an echo of a memory – just as the Aylied ruins had.
I fell asleep that night curious of what it must have been like to be the Hero of Kvatch – the savior of the city who closed the gates forever and then disappeared into history. There were so many tales that circulated about the Hero of Kvatch that I would never be able to separate the truth from the legend. Some say that the Hero was also involved in the darker world of Cyrodiil, whether that would be the Thieves Guild and the infamous Grey Fox or the Dark Brotherhood. Others told tale of the Hero also being the Grand Champion of the Imperial City's Arena. One thing is for sure, the Hero of Kvatch was a known adventurer – traveling across the realm and closing Oblivion gates until the opportunity came to attempt to save the Septim dynasty.
My dreams that night were full of creatures from the planes of Oblivion, which I had only seen sketched in books. Scamps, Daedra, and worse blazed with brim fire and laughed in heart sinking tones. I awoke to a cold sweat on my forehead and my breath hanging before my in a fog. Outside the tent, the fire had burned down to embers and the cold air crept into the tent.
I layered on my heavy clothes and what little armor I had accumulated and then ate some stale bread and hard cheese to fill my growling stomach. As I broke down my tent, I looked around at my surrounding area in daylight for the first time. I recalled the lights on the ridge above me and looked in the direction I thought I had seen them burning. Sure enough, I could see the top of what appeared to be a statue and the vague appearance of smoking sconces against a rock face. I finished gathering my supplies and cooling the embers of the fire, and then headed up towards the ridge above me.
I headed up the rocky path until I came upon a shrine of Talos. There were several wooden benches surrounding the giant statue and more than ten worshippers wandering about or sitting on the benches or ground. One or two of them glanced up at me but most paid me no mind as I entered the area around the shrine. I walked up to the statue in the center and stared up into the face of Talos. I had seen several different interpretations of Tiber Septim in Cyrodiil; most often he was represented as looking like an Imperial. However, this statue made him look more Nordic. He had a thick jaw and a thick beard. His helmet sported pointed wings, very reminiscent of the Nordic armor I had been seeing during my journey. Around his feet was curled a stone serpent of some sort, though I couldn't quite figure out what it was supposed to be due to the stone beginning to wear away.
I gave an offering of a few gold pieces, for I didn't have much in the way of fortune. Nearly all the treasures I had found I had to sell to simply be able to eat or sleep under a roof on a snowy night. I knelt, said my prayer, and upon standing, a small cave caught my eye. It was farther up the steep slope and to the left.
I got the attention of a Nord in priest robes and inquired, "What is that opening there?"
The man's eyes followed the direction of my gesture and once he knew what I was asking about, he explained, "That, my son, is the Inner Chamber of Wulf."