Author's Note: 'Bout time most of us would be getting over the initial adrenaline and sense of purpose, and with a hard-life lesson or two, and no sign of a way home, start feeling sorry for ourselves BIG time. You wouldn't? Oh angst is me time - our stories 'hero' is no hero! But; without realising it this OC is growing stronger, even if only driven through a sense of guilt at first. Knowing you could make a difference, knowing the future, and seeing the value in even the lives of strangers. Being inspired to loyalty and self-sacrifice by those you encounter…
~I'm at Kvatch, well the camp. Plan two failed I guess. Not a huge surprise since I'm told the attack began the night the Emperor was killed. There's talk that the Dragonfires going out must have been what allowed them to attack with more than just assassins, to pierce the veil between realms. Maybe they'd found out his location but not his identity at the time, otherwise it seems an odd coincidence they picked Kvatch to attack first. Maybe I should be more careful about mentioning names in here for now.- I've only considered the chance of this book ending up in the right, and not the wrong hands.
Knew once I saw the smoke from far down the road and then a glowing skyline. A Black Horse Courier raced by looking pretty grim-faced. Strange thing; the Kvatch signpost had three gouges next to the name. I wonder who did it. Probably the bad guys.
Urged my horse on, yeah I stole her. Figured worth chancing with even a slim hope of getting to Kvatch before the attack. Clung on for dear life every time I got her galloping. Good beginner's lesson, tolerant horse too. Getting off tends to involve falling off though, maybe it's easier without armour I wouldn't know.
Oh and I guess it was bound to happen eventually I know. -Killed someone. Bandit. A thin Khajiit woman almost in rags who jumped out as I was making my way from Skingrad, trying to startle the horse into throwing me. I tried yielding, offering food. She hissed something about not being a beggar. It was more than my life at stake with the job I'd been trusted with. Still I don't see how I could possibly be the same person now, or forgiven. I was afraid of dying but it's another thing altogether to be afraid of losing any place in heaven if there is one. Certainly never wanted to take that chance. Maybe if this world does hold its own afterlife – they could take one more soul? I'm so selfish.
You know what's sad? When the second bandit appeared a little further on an Imperial Legion soldier was there this time and killed him. The third one of their gang was already sprawled unmoving on the ground nearby. This soldier had a kind face, and asked if I was alright as he stood from checking the body. None of it fazed him. He was used to it.
If I'm already a lost cause, why not at least make myself useful to these people? So if I do die as I'm sure I'm very well capable here, it might still make the difference for even one more of them surviving.
It makes me smile when I think back on my games overpowered thief the guards always had a perma-scowl for. "Stop-talking-to-me", followed by a reverent "It was an honour, Champion…"
But these are some genuinely noble minded people. Now I'm actually meeting their real versions it really matters. They love the Empire, it stood so long thanks to those who stood together before them. And they carry the same shared loyalty and defiance against all odds it was built on, from the original Dragonblood Alessia's triumph and the allegiances of so many including their ancestors who fought together against the slavery of all.
They believe in it. I think I want to look after these Legion people somehow. The soldiers, the town and city guards. The Blades.
Anyway. Back to how I arrived here. Just before reaching camp saw an Altmer man running my way, so clambered off my horse in time to grab him. Hirtel was his name, I think I remember him. He was looking very shaken and his face was more sooty than golden. He told me what I already knew about the Daedra siege machine and the men holding the road, before fleeing again, not before a wistful look at 'my' horse. Savlian Matius was the one who took charge after breaking out of town with the few he could help. Long walk uphill but I'm leaving the poor horse hidden near the camp.
Spoke to the camps traumatised survivors, they spoke of their nightmare. A few more people than I remember but some are gradually leaving for anywhere safer. I recognised Boldon. The guy looked at me with an accusing expression akin to hate, like he wanted someone to blame. That's fine, blame me it's more fitting than you know. Some were handling it better than others. Some with stoicism, some with despair, some with camaraderie, some with abandon. –No wonder he was angry, they'd had no chance to even fight back. Ilav the monk I remember, kinda shook me how total his hopelessness was, his faith destroyed.
I'm sat writing all this and I know I'm partly trying to delay going up there. I'm terrified. Time to go. ~