"Quilava! Catch!" Chespin threw the iron ball that he and his friend, Quilava, played with on nice spring mornings. Chespin was dressed in a simple green robe with a mottled brown and orange trim. Quilava had a deep blue tunic with a red collar.
Quilava jumped for it. He lost his footing on the slick planks of the saw mill that extended onto a small piece of land jutting up from the river. He landed with a medium sized splash and Quilava's head burst through the current.
"Holy hell! That's cold!" He said through chattering teeth.
Chespin extended his hand and pulled his friend from the water. Quilava's parents owned the forgery in town. The pair walked over the bridge and up the patio to the workplace where, Quilava's father, Charzard was hammering a double edged battle axe with precision and skill.
"Hey dad," he said parking himself on a bench. "Can I help with something?"
Charzard turned from his project and let out a hearty laugh. "Of course! Go to up the hill and bring me back some iron. I'm going to need a lot if I'm going to make Chespin's dad a suit of armor!"
Chespin's heart sank. Skyrim was on the verge of war with the neighboring country to the south, Cyrodiil. The capital of Tamriel. Cyrodiilian soldiers were pushing north to "unite Tamriel under one flag" Chespin called bullshit. Anyway, his father was leaving tomorrow morning at dawn. The high king, Articuno, called a moot with the seven jarls of Skyrim on what to do. They would fight back.
"Yes sir!" the two friends said. Each grabbed a pick axe and went up the mountain. The mountain was a treacherous place filled with bandits and trolls. It wouldn't surprise Chespin if they ran into a wolf or two.
"Hey, Chespin, Ever think about leaving Riverwood?" Quilava queried. He was nervous Chespin could tell because he was pulling at the edge of his tunic.
Chespin often wondered the same thing. 'Will I ever leave?' he asked himself. "I don't know," he said with a scowl. "Maybe one day."