A Nord Fallen
Chapter Two
Into the Rift
Comjul Achrin ran and ran and ran. He avoided roads and travelers as best he could. He ran until his legs ultimately gave out. He lay there in the wilds of Skyrim, not knowing where he was or what time it was. He didn't care. The man he had come to know as his uncle was gone. Ulfric was dead. He lay there and cried. He had nothing and no one. All the family he had ever known was dead.
At some point, he must have fallen asleep. When he awoke he was still very sore, but the sun was shining brightly.
He knew the war was over now, with Ulfric dead. He thought it best to remove his Stormcloak armor. The Stormcloaks had been the only family he had known for years, they had gotten him out of Helgen. But he knew it was in his best interests to not brand himself a traitor. The time of the Stormcloaks was in the past and he needed to move on, no matter how badly he wished to change the past.
A sharp twinge in his arm reminded him of the arrow he took. He grimaced. His skin had already started to close around it. On the positive side, he wasn't bleeding anymore. However, it was really going to hurt getting it out. He removed his gauntlet from his uninjured arm, and used his sword to cut the gauntlet off of his injured arm, as carefully as he could.
Now came the unpleasant part. As carefully as he could, he broke the back of the arrow off and as quickly as he could bear, pushed the arrow the rest of the way through. He grimaced as he scanned the area for something to help the healing process. Finding nothing, he wrapped his intact around the wound as a makeshift bandage.
He removed his armor, tossing away everything but his boots and sword. He felt naked wearing only a pair of thin pants and a tattered shirt.
He took in his surroundings. Judging by the landscape, he guessed he was south of Riften. He decided that was as good a place to start over as any. Riften was an old, rundown, rat infested hole, but he could make a living there. If not in the town itself, then certainly in the Ratways.
He wished he had grabbed the map of Skyrim before he left Windhelm. He knelt down and drew a rough map from memory with a stick, tracing it with a nearby stick. He tried to calculate his location by how fast he had run and for how long. He sighed, wishing he had a better guess.
Now that he was dressed in civilian clothing, he would be able to use the main roads without too many problems.
He stood upright, hearing running water. That reminded him how thirsty he was. He went over a small hill, where he found a fast moving river. He knelt and drank until he heard a commotion. A rock hit him in the back. He looked up and saw a troll trying to scare him away.
A troll would be as fitting a way to die as any. He mused to himself as he rose to his feet. He drew his sword and contemplated the quickest way to the troll. He took in his surroundings and quickly realized that there were fairly evenly spaced rocks spanning across the river. He could easily jump from one to the other to reach the other side.
Comjul lined up the jump and ran for it. He was pleased that his plan for crossing the river had worked so well but he realized a moment too late that perhaps it wasn't the best battle strategy. The troll was waiting for him as soon as he leapt onto the bank.
It grabbed him in its oversized hands and began to shake him around as if he weighed nothing. Comjul was focused. He stared at the trolls third eye and decided to test if that was the trolls weak spot.
"Bet that would hurt." He mumbled aloud. He jammed his sword into his target and the troll dropped. Comjul landed on his feet, only to be taken down by the troll collapsing onto him. So much for that death.
He rolled the troll off of him with a grunt and set to work cutting large chunks of fat off of its belly. Hopefully the fat would fetch him some coin. He wrapped the fat up in some of the trolls skin.
He noticed a cave nearby and looked inside. There was a dead deer and some dead Stormcloak soldiers. It appeared the troll had killed them all.
Comjul skinned the deer and looted his fallen comrades for anything useful, but made sure to take nothing that would die him to the Stormcloaks. He took their weapons and a book. At least he'd be able to afford a room for at least one night.
He looked up and down the trail he was near and determined it to be free of threats. It was time for him to get moving.
It wasn't long before he arrived at Ivarstead. Imperial guards were walking around. He quickened his pace out if reflex. He needed to get away from the Imperial dogs. Once across the bridge, he took a quick look at the road sign and headed for Riften.
Comjul followed the road signs. Only a wolf and a frostbite spider gave him trouble. He was quite entertained by a Kajhiit who called himself M'aiq for a brief while. He had to fight hard to keep from killing some imperial guards he saw walking the road.
Come dusk he wasn't quite half way there by his estimation. He gathered wood and made a small, but warming fire.
He cooked and ate what little meat he had pulled off of the deer, then curled around the fire for the night. He stretched out the wolf pelt and deer skin to dry by the fire.
A frostbite spider awoke him before dawn. The fire had burned itself out. He rolled to his feet and with a quick downward thrust to its head, killed it. He figured it was close to 5 am so, he continued his journey. He rolled up the skins and made his way down the dim road.
Two hours later, he spotted an Argonian. The lizard was in full iron battledress. It looked at Camjul with narrowed eyes and pulled out a sword and an axe. Comjul drew his sword, not wanting to use it. He walked with it by his side, hoping to simply walk by the thing.
But the Argonian was having none of that. It hissed as it ran for Comjul. Comjul was ready, already in a defensive stance. The lizard swung the sword. Comjul blocked his blow easily with his own sword. He rotated his sword around the Argonians, knocking it from its hand. Comjul swung with all he had at the lizard. His blow was blocked with the axe, but the Argonian felt the force of the blow. It stumbled back, trying to regain its footing. Comjul stabbed the thing between its armor, under its arm. It fell dead as he yanked his sword out. Well, now he had armor that didn't identify him as a Stormcloak.
He donned it, feeling awkward in metal skin. But it was better than the rags he had. He continued on.
He made it to a lake without much trouble. He looked around as he approached, then hit his knees and drank to his hearts content.
He made it to Riften around 10 that morning. First things first he decided. He needed to sell his surplus items for gold so he could rent a room. He walked to the plaza in the center of town and leaned against the railing, watching and listening.
His ears were assaulted with beggars pleading and shopkeepers pedaling their goods. He sold what he could, then returned to watching and listening. He was getting really annoyed how the imperials were looking at him.
He went into the inn got a room, food, and some drinks. Tonight, he needed to forget. Tonight, he would drink himself stupid.
