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"You realize that all your life you have been coasting along as if you were in a dream. Suddenly, facing the trials of the last few days, you have come alive."
Percy
It was a despicable act, really, to deny one's prey the chance at flight. With no chase, there was no hunt, and triumph achieved without effort was nothing short of hollow. To capture a sleeping man was ignoble enough, and to offer him the noose for his rest? Percy was far from a saint, but he would never deign to stray so far from honor as that.
The Nords all around him did not seem to share in his civility. All his passionate protests were met only with disdain. Perhaps, if his accent were thickened by a lifetime in Skyrim, they might've been willing to listen. Then again, he could not recall a time that a prisoner's pleas had stayed a headsman's hand.
As he was – tied up and with weapons stripped from him – Percy could do little but watch as they turned a low-hanging branch into his executioner. The noose beckoned to him from across the glade, eager to welcome him with its fatal embrace. Percy grimaced, not because death awaited him, but because these Nords and their foolishness sullied both his life and their own.
"Stand," The nearest of their number demanded, "It's time you pay for your crimes."
Percy rolled his eyes, but pushed himself to his feet nonetheless. Disobedience now would only hasten his own demise. He was no pushover though, and while the threat of death could make him compliant for a time, it could not stay his tongue.
"Perhaps it's a bit rude of me to keep pestering you," Percy said, "but you still haven't explained to me exactly what I've done."
"Feigned innocence won't save you, scum," The Stormcloak snapped, "We know you're working for the Thalmor."
"The Thalmor? Do I look like a high elf to you? Have my ears grown in my sleep? Has my ego?"
"You look like a man snooping around a Stormcloak military operation. That makes you an enemy of Skyrim and her people. We are honor-bound to deliver Jarl Ulfric's justice to your traitorous head."
"If that's the case, then your Jarl has a funny idea of justice," Percy told the man.
The Nord did not agree. Instead of laughter, he treated Percy to a thump on the back of the head and a shove towards the waiting hangman.
"Watch your tongue when you speak of–"
"Oh, enough with the blathering!" A gruff voice interrupted.
A new man came into view, only he did not wear the same garb as the rest of Percy's captors. His armor, though leather and fur like the rest, was more ornate than that worn by the other Stormcloaks. In place of a helmet, he wore a headdress made from the pelt of a bear, and on his face, he bore an irritated scowl intended only for the man at Percy's back.
"Already we've delayed our mission for this hanging, and now you wish to waste even more time by arguing with a dead man? Have you nothing at all between your ears, lad?"
"But sir, he–"
"Save it. If you want to kill the man, kill him. If you want to mouth off, cut out your tongue and save us all some time. At this point, I couldn't give less of a damn which you choose."
The Stormcloak at Percy's back – as passionate as he was dense – took the berating to heart. He saluted to his superior and then, with eagerness behind his blows, herded Percy towards the hangman's necklace. A fallen log was rolled beneath the noose, and a sword at Percy's back invited him to climb towards his own death.
When his head passed through the loop, the world seemed to still. The sounds of the forest died, and all eyes turned as one to observe his passing. He would need to be fast to survive. Faster than he'd ever been before. Percy drew in a deep, calming breath, and begrudgingly pleaded with his father for aid. No words were spoken, but a subtle shift in the wind told him that fortune would be on his side. It was a small boon – his father was resolutely against granting the larger favors – but it would be more than enough for what he had in mind.
"Today you meet your gods, scum. May they treat you harshly," The officer said. He turned to the hangman; contempt written across his features. "Be done with it."
The hangman nodded. With a single unceremonious kick, the Stormcloak tore Percy's footing from beneath him. Gravity took hold of him immediately. There was a moment – itself scarcely more than a blink – before the noose could bring Percy's fall to an abrupt end, but it was all he needed.
Faster than the eye could track, Percy's bound hands rose up to the rope above and stopped his terminal descent. He hauled himself upwards, using his own noose as a ladder to his salvation. He reached the branch before any of the Stormcloaks could overcome their disbelief. By the time the first man had drawn his weapon, Percy had already relieved himself of the noose's grasp.
Only his bindings remained, but Percy had a plan for those too. As the nearest Stormcloaks struggled to climb the tree, the ones furthest from it chose instead to nock their bows. Percy studied their stances, the angle of their weapons, and the path of their eyes. All this he did in the time it took for the archers to bring fletching to cheek.
The first three arrows he avoided before they were even fired. By the time they took flight, he had already seen their trajectory a dozen times over in his mind. He let them sail past without so much as a glance. The fourth arrow he had different plans for.
As the arrow closed in, Percy raised his bound hands and spread them as far as the rope would allow. The arrow flew exactly where he expected it to and, thanks to his foresight, his bindings were directly in its path. The arrow cut through the rope with ease and, just like that, he was free.
His success could not have come any sooner, as the first of the Stormcloaks had finally made it up to his safe haven. Percy waited long enough to give the man a mocking wave before he leapt from the branch. He landed on the soldier who'd been most eager to see him killed, knocking him off his feet and forcing him to taste the dirt of his beloved homeland.
Were he armed; Percy might've stayed to test his battle prowess against the remaining soldiers. As it was, he stood no chance against an entire troop of Stormcloaks. Leaving his weapons and his hopes of vengeance behind, Percy turned tail and ran for trees. The Stormcloaks were quick to give chase, but it wouldn't matter. They were playing his game now. He would lose them long before nightfall.
Helazh
Helazh never should've come to Skyrim. It had been a reckless dream. One driven by passion and hope instead of reason. She was not familiar with this land or its people. She was blind to its ways and numbed by its chill. The warm sands of the Alik'r were a world away now, destined to be forgotten as she was swallowed by this merciless place the Nords called home.
It was silly to be done in by the land itself, and yet that seemed to be her fate. Wherever the road was, she had left it behind long ago. She could not understand the trees as she did the rippling dunes of her homeland, and the canopy shielded the stars from her view. Without them she was lost, and she feared how long she would last without guidance in a place as strange as this.
"Ruptga," She murmured, "lead me from these woods, or else welcome me to your far shores."
Despite her piety, she was unsurprised when her prayer went unanswered. To expect Tall Papa's guidance to be wasted on her would've been a naïve presumption. And yet, as doubt took her, a rustling of leaves like the breath of Ruptga himself flowed through the trees. Her hope swelled, but it was not to last for long.
She turned, searching every which way for the source of the noise. As one would expect, it was exactly when her back was turned that the true culprit behind the sound burst from the trees. Their presence was announced then not by a shout of warning, but by the bone-crunching impact as they ran straight into her.
Her unknown assailant was the first to recover from the impact. They relieved her of their cumbersome frame long before she managed to shake off her daze. When her mind returned to her, it was greeted by a sharp pain in her ribs and a calloused hand held out in offering. She took it without a thought, and within moments she was on her feet once more. With her dignity restored, she was finally able to get a good look at her unwitting attacker.
He was unusually tall, and with eyes like a crackling fire. A mop of shaggy black hair sat atop a stubbled, angular face that had fallen into an easy, apologetic smile. He seemed innocent enough, but Helazh still found herself inadvertently inching away from him as the silence lingered. Meeting his gaze felt akin to staring down a duneracer, and that was cause enough to be wary.
"Forgive me," The man said, "I wasn't exactly looking where I was headed."
Helazh forced a friendly smile, even as her hand fell to the hilt of her sword. Though the man seemed innocent enough, it never hurt to be prepared. A kind stranger could in a moment become a bitter rival. She had long abandoned many of her peoples' ways, but the day would never come that she stood unprepared in the face of a potential foe.
"Are you armed?"
The man shook his head.
"My weapons were taken from me by some," he paused, no doubt to formulate a lie, before continuing, "By some bears. And I'm no mage besides. You have nothing to fear from me."
"Bears?" She asked. "You mean to say that a pack of bears took your things?"
"In a sense of the term, yes. Regardless, I'm no more a danger to you than the land itself."
Another lie, Helazh noted, and not a particularly comforting one either. Skyrim was far from hospitable, and even if he weren't hiding something, his words would've given her little reassurance.
"Yes, well, you'd best be on your way then. I've a journey ahead of me still, and I'd prefer it if I didn't have to make it with one eye constantly looking over my shoulder."
"Oh, please," The man said. "You're clearly lost, and while these woods may not be my own, I still understand them well enough. I can get you where you need to be."
"And you'd do that, what, out of the kindness of your heart?"
The man scoffed.
"Hardly. The 'bears' took my things. You have provisions, I have knowhow. It only makes sense that we'd work together."
Helazh paused to consider her options. On the one hand, this man was just as likely to be a bandit as he was to be a blessing. On the other, turning him away now would only be delaying her death for a while. The question then was not about the man, but about her. Who was she? What was she willing to risk?
"Let's say that I agreed. What's to stop you from killing me while I sleep? Or from running away with my supplies?"
"Morality. Self-control. Laziness. The usual stuff that stops good people from doing bad things."
"I was hoping for something more concrete."
"I know. But if I had a guarantee, I'd give it to you. The good news for me is, I doubt you'd be in Skyrim at all if you were afraid of taking risks."
"You make a good point," she admitted, "and I'm running out of reasons to turn your offer down. If you can get me to Whiterun–"
"Consider it done," The man interjected, "And for the rest of your days you can preach to others the importance of having faith in strangers."
"I have faith in friends," Helazh told him, "Not wanderers."
"Fair enough. That's an easy fix after all. My name is Percy."
"Helazh Lavergne."
The newly dubbed Percy smiled and extended a hand in greeting. She shook it, and with the action sealed her decision for eternity.
"Wonderful. Now, let's see about setting up camp for the night. The sooner we're settled, the sooner we can start regaling one another with juicy secrets and childhood anecdotes. It'll be like we're really friends."
And with that, Percy set off in search of firewood, leaving Helazh to contemplate her own madness. Did she truly trust this stranger to be her guide? Did she have a choice? Those were questions not even she could answer. All she could do was hope that Skyrim was not as strapped for good people as it was for warm winds. Such unfounded hope was a reckless dream, but it seemed that she could live no other way.
Percy
He felt her gaze on him as he warmed his hands on the fire. They were intense things, those eyes of hers. Like shining pools of gold, they seemed far too traveled to belong to a girl so young. Especially one who, based on her strange garb, was traveling beyond Hammerfell's borders for the very first time.
"You can speak your mind," he told her, "I promise I will take no offense."
"How can you take such an oath when you don't know what it is I'll ask?"
"A fair point. Talk then, and accept the dangers that come with it."
She smiled. A good sign that she had taken his jest in stride.
"I'm certain you can tell that I'm from Hammerfell," she said, "but I'm having trouble placing your accent. You don't sound like any Nord I've met, but I've never seen a Breton as tall as you."
"That would make sense. My mother was Colovian, after all. As for the accent, well, a lifetime spent in Valenwood will do that to you."
"Valenwood? Does that mean your father was–?"
"Nope. Just a normal man," he lied, "but the Graht-Oaks are still my home as much as they are any Bosmer, Orc, or Imga's."
"Fascinating," Helazh murmured, "My mother rarely spoke of the place, but she always made it seem so…"
"Wild?" Percy offered.
"Yes, wild. Is it true that the trees there grow to be hundreds of feet tall? Or that the Bosmer eat the dead?"
Percy fought the urge to roll his eyes. It was amusing how little people understood of his homeland. They so often assumed the great jungles of southern Tamriel housed nothing but cannibalizing savages. It was a silly notion, really. Though to be fair to Helazh and her mother, he very much doubted the tales he'd been told of Hammerfell were any less ridiculous.
"The trees are as large as your mother says. Larger, even. As for the Bosmer, well… Most keep to the Green Pact, but only the most fanatical of Y'ffre's chosen hold it as dearly as the stories would lead you to believe. I've met perhaps one elf in all my days who would think to eat the dead, and he seemed more madness than mer."
"That's boring. A relief, but boring."
"Yes, I suppose it would be. But Valenwood still has plenty of excitement to offer. The southern shore is a sight to behold, and standing beneath a Graht-Oak as it marches through the green is just… I have seen no place like it since I left. I wonder if perhaps I never will."
"It does sound wonderful," she agreed, "Why would you ever leave such a place?"
Percy grimaced. While he had no qualms about speaking of his home with Helazh, he was very much unwilling to share the true purpose of his visit. Some knowledge was meant for few ears.
"Business," he said, "And what of you? What made you leave Hammerfell behind?"
Helazh poked at the fire with a charred stick. Her eyes gleamed in the blaze, and a shadow was thrown across her features by the dancing light. Her mood changed with the shifting flames, and her fascinated smile became a somber pout.
"Unpleasantness." She took a shaky breath as she gathered her thoughts. "My father, he… When I was a young girl, I told my father I wanted to study magic. He sat me down and shoved a copy of The Book of Circles in my hands. He said, 'Truly understand this, and ask me about magic again when you do.' I was disappointed, but I did what I was told.
"In time, I came to know that book with every part of myself. I must've read it ten thousand times. I memorized all the grips, stances, and strikes that Frandar Hunding once did. I practiced them until my fingers bled and my sword and soul were one. I think my father was hoping that the practice would win me over, but it was always about the magic for me. So, when the time came that I asked about magic again…"
The final words never left her lips, and her eyes never left the fire. They didn't need to. Sometimes, the worst of one's past was best left to words unspoken. To dredge up buried pains was to welcome them with open arms. He could think of little that would help less and hurt more than that.
In the absence of any true solution to her strife, Percy was struck by the need to comfort her. To call her a friend would be a stretch, and to call himself wise even moreso. But then, not all solace had to come from friends, and not all wisdom had to be one's own.
"The Nords like to tell the story of a man called Thane Icehammer. He was a pleasant man, and he liked to hunt. One day, he returned from a hunting trip, only he was different from before. He was bitter. Damaged.
"An acolyte of Kyne tried to help him. She discovered a rotting wound in his side with a broken spearhead lodged within. As it turns out, the Daedric Prince, Hircine, had stabbed Icehammer as punishment for accidentally killing some of his beloved were-creatures. You see, it wasn't age or ill, but the point of Hircine's spear that had driven the man mad."
As he told the tale, a harsh cold crept in. He found himself inching towards the fire, drinking in the warmth as the story spilled from his lips.
"In a fit of rage, Icehammer killed the innocent acolyte. His own wife asked the Watch to capture him and force him to face justice. Turned on by his own people, Icehammer fled to a nearby crypt. The Watch wanted to go in after him, but Icehammer's wife told them instead to seal the crypt, locking her husband inside. It is said that Icehammer wandered those burial halls for centuries before an adventurer finally granted him the mercy of death. The mercy he had been denied by the people who once loved him."
The fire crackled, and the howl of a wolf in the distance let Percy know the forest was listening. Helazh seemed equally entranced. Her eyes, once bound to the fire, now held his gaze with unabashed intrigue.
"If that was meant to make me feel better, it didn't work. Why tell me such a terribly sad story?"
Percy shrugged.
"Because I had no other story to tell."
Helazh sent him a look that told him she wouldn't be satisfied with such an easy answer. He tried to ignore her, but in a show of supreme will, her patience outlasted his own. He sighed and then, reluctantly, he spoke.
"I chose that story because, when the Nords tell it, it is as more than a cautionary tale about the danger of Daedric Princes. The story tells them that the world is cruel. That we don't choose our enemies, be they beast, daedra, or family. In the end, all that one can do is endure the hardships they've been dealt until they can endure no more. It's a harsh lesson from a hardy people, and one worth remembering."
After the words had left him, silence took to the clearing. Helazh's eyes remained on him, as unreadable as the flickering flames. The weight of her gaze was heavy. He felt it as he rose to his feet, and shuddered beneath it as he took his first step away from the fire.
"I'll take the first watch. You can get some rest," he told her, "You'll need your strength if we're to make it to Whiterun."
He left her to his words and the warmth of the fire. As he stood away, watching for the threats that would never come, he couldn't shake those eyes. They were too young. Too strong. Too familiar.
Helazh
"It's time."
Helazh shot up where she lay. Her hands scrabbled at the dirt, searching blindly for her discarded scimitar. It wasn't until a few seconds of panic had passed that her mind caught up to reality. There was no threat, just the strange man that had come to be her ally.
"My watch already?" she asked.
Percy shook his head and pointed skyward. She followed his direction and found that light was already beginning to filter through the leaves.
"You took my shift?"
"You needed the rest," he told her, "We've a long journey ahead of us."
"There's no need to baby me. I can pull my own weight."
"Fine. Next time I won't let you sleep all night next to a warm fire," He reached down and took her hand, hauling her to her feet without a thought. "Gather your things. We need to get moving."
As it turned out, breaking camp was a rather simple task. After donning her weapon and slinging her travel pack over her shoulder, all there was left to do was to kick some dirt over the smoldering embers of the previous night's fire. With that finished, she and Percy were on the move.
He led her through the trees for a while, teaching her how to navigate the forest as best he could. Much of his skill he chalked up to 'instinct', but he was still an excellent tutor. He understood the land as well as her father understood the blade, and though he couldn't make her an expert, she doubted she would ever again be so lost as she had been.
When they reached the road, she found that they had made more progress than she thought. Where once the mountain the Nords called the Throat of the World had been to her east, it now stood notably more southward. She was no expert on Skyrim's geography, but if memory served, then the planes of Whiterun Hold were not far beyond them now.
She made to ask Percy as much, but he silenced her before she could get more than a word in. He seemed on edge, and his peculiar eyes were scanning the tree line with rapid sweeps. Though she couldn't feel the danger he did, she found her hand inching to her sword anyways.
"What is it?" she whispered.
He held up three fingers and pointed to the forest before mouthing the word 'bandits'. Panic threatened to rise in her stomach, but a steadying hand on her shoulder reigned her in. With silence as his language, Percy guided her off the road and towards an outcrop of rocks opposite the danger. They nestled behind them, and it was then that he finally spoke.
"Your sword. Do you know how to use it?"
"I told you last night–"
"You read the book, I know," he said, "but that's not what I asked. Knowing how to swing a blade is far from knowing how to take a life. So, again, do you know how to use your sword?"
Her hesitance spoke for her.
"I didn't think so. You stay here. I'll handle them."
Her protests fell on deaf ears, as he was long gone before she could speak them. She tried to run after him, but by the time she peaked around the outcrop, the bandits had already emerged from the forest. Her mind told her to hold firm, but instinct forced her back behind the rocks. Resigned then to her cowardly position, she crept up the outcrop, climbing higher and higher until her eyes peaked over the highest point. From up so high, she had a perfect view of the scene down below.
Percy stood – unarmed and with arms spread wide in greeting – before three strangers. Two were burly Nord men, and the third a Breton woman with a nasty scar across her face. They were wearing friendly smiles, but the steel on their person was far more telling.
"By the eight am I glad to see you three," Percy said, "I'm dreadfully lost, and I was hoping you'd be able to direct me to Riverwood."
The largest of the three, a homely man with a sword the size of a ship's mast, let out a hearty laugh.
"You misunderstand, lad. We aren't here to give you directions." He stepped closer, hefting his weapon in a tremendous show of strength. "We're here for everything you've got. Nothing more. Nothing less."
His colleagues snickered behind him, but Percy did not waver.
"You're going to be sorely disappointed," he told the brigands, "I've got little but the head on my shoulders to offer you."
The faux smiles faded then, and the leader of the bunch crept closer to Percy. His voice dropped an octave, and his sword rose into a ready position.
"I suppose we'll just be taking that then."
Percy's posture stiffened, and Helazh felt her pulse quicken. The man stepped closer still, and Helazh summoned her magicka. She was far from eager to kill someone, but if it came down to that…
"I'd advise you don't push that idea, friend," Percy warned. His voice lacked all of the feigned nonchalance from moments prior. "It'd be a shame if your comrades had to watch you be slain by an unarmed man."
The Nord, it seemed, did not appreciate Percy's threat. With a roar of indignation, he charged. Helazh formed a fireball in her hand as fast as she could, but Percy was faster.
As the bandit closed in, Percy stepped towards him, putting himself inside the swing of the massive greatsword. Deft hands stole a dagger from the man's waist, and with even more precision slammed it into his neck. When the steel left the man's collar it was followed by a shower of crimson as strong as any geyser Helazh had ever seen.
The other two bandits sprang into action as their comrade hit the cobblestones. Percy, armed with only a knife and his wit, backed away from them. He was clearly skilled, but numbers were numbers, and his reach was limited. As he retreated, the bandits gave chase. It was then that Helazh struck.
Her first fireball missed wide, but it gave both the bandits pause. The second struck right between them, and the third caught the woman in the shoulder. The flames didn't kill her, but they were more than hot enough to give her skin a permanent char. The woman dropped her sword and clutched at her seared flesh, leaving her accomplice to face Percy alone. The poor man did not survive her decision. A single display of flashy knifework later, and the woman was alone.
"Pick up your weapon." Percy said to her.
"You killed them!" She screeched, ignoring Percy and looking at her fallen friends instead.
"I did, and I'm going to kill you too. Now pick up your weapon."
She did as he asked, but instead of readying herself for a fight, the woman ran for the trees. Percy watched her go, but he did not move to go after her. Instead, he just let out a sigh before turning to the rocks where Helazh was perched.
"Nice work. Excellent touch with the fireballs. Very shock and awe."
"Thanks."
Helazh dismounted her rocky roost and retook her place at Percy's side. She did her best to avoid looking at the still-bleeding corpses, but it was inevitable that they caught her eye eventually. Thankfully, Percy was there to draw her focus before she could be fully taken by the gravity of what she'd just witnessed.
"Whiterun isn't far now. We can make it by Fredas if we hurry."
He was on the move again without another word, leaving Helazh to wonder. Just who was Percy? And what in Ruptga's name had she gotten herself into?
Percy
The rushing waters of the White River provided an excellent excuse for ignoring his companion's pressing questions. Whenever her curiosity got to be too much, he would silence her pestering with a simple, 'I can't hear you over the river.' It was a lie, but one she hadn't challenged him on as of yet.
Helazh ultimately seemed unbothered by his tight-lipped nature. While her curiosity was great, so too was her sense of respect. She rarely asked the same thing twice and was ultimately content with the questions he would answer. That meant he spent little time talking about himself, and a long time speaking of his travels.
Eventually though, she began to wear down. After days of discussing all of Tamriel, from Malabal Tor to Northern Elsweyr to the Imperial City, she could hold herself back no longer. Once again, she asked him the question he had no intention of ever answering.
"How is it that someone like you ends up with business in Skyrim?"
Percy cocked a brow, trying his best to hide the amusement he took in her phrasing.
"Someone like me?"
Helazh rolled her eyes.
"Don't be that way. You know exactly what I mean. You're clearly not the 'business' type."
"Looks can be deceiving," Percy reminded her, "I doubt many would have you pegged as a mage, and yet Winterhold calls you all the same."
"I suppose that's fair, but I'm still not convinced. I've met dozens of traveling merchants, and you're not as sleazy by half. That, and I don't know any businessmen who handle a knife like you do."
"Ah, but not all business is 'business' so to speak. There are few places in all of Tamriel where a good sword arm is worth more than in Skyrim."
"True, but you're no sellsword either," Helazh said, "if you were, you would've demanded payment from me a long time ago."
Percy took in her words and let out a sigh. It seemed that she wasn't nearly as naïve or respectful as he once thought. She was just as determined to get to the bottom of his business as he was to keep it from her. Thankfully, he was saved from responding by the cresting of the hill underfoot.
In the distance, the great plains of Whiterun extended as far as the eye could see. On the horizon, a speck of brown and grey rose above the tundra like a mountain all its own. The sight of it took Helazh's curiosity by the horns, redirecting her focus and saving Percy from an increasingly convoluted series of deflections.
"Is that it?" She asked. "Is that Whiterun?"
"It is," Percy confirmed. "You're staring at the Crossroads of Skyrim. Soon, the College will be little more than a carriage ride away."
"Truly?"
"Truly," Percy said with a nod, "But we still have a way to go yet. These plains make things look closer than they really are, so we'd best get moving. If you'd like, on the way I can tell you about the dragon that once lived inside Whiterun's walls."
Helazh liked that idea very much if her wide eyes were any indication. He had long had his suspicions about Helazh's unfamiliarity with Skyrim's legends, and her eagerness now only confirmed them. With that in mind, he had all the ammunition he needed to avoid personal questions for the rest of their journey.
"So you see, it all began when the great Numinex grew long in the tooth…"
AN
Are you surprised to see me? And in the crossover section no less? Honestly, I am too. I planned to write ahead for this, but in the end decided against it. School has been so busy recently that this (and one other thing you'll see soon) is all I've managed to write since the end of PTB. Literally. It's cringeworthy even to me. That, coupled with my eagerness to explore TES (My favorite fictional universe) means that I can wait no longer. With that in mind though, know that this (for now) is little more than a teaser/proof of concept/proof that I'm alive. Until I'm better able to focus on writing, this will remain as such. I will update as I can, but be warned that it'll likely be slow, even by my standards.
Next, let's discuss lore. I am no Mortigaunt by any means, but TES lore does interest me. I dive into it in my free time fairly thoroughly so expect to see at least a bit of lore-heavy content throughout (More than just the name drops seen in this chapter). If at any time you feel overwhelmed, both my PMs and my discord are open for questions. If you're feeling shy, I highly recommend the UESP for general information, the Elder Scrolls subreddit for more nuanced questions, and The Imperial Library for in-universe texts.
All that being said, I think I have a lovely little adventure planned out for you guys. I'm really looking forward to the things I have in mind, and I hope you'll get as excited as I am as the story progresses. That's all I have for now. I'll see you as soon as I'm able, and until next time,
Peace