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Chapter 1:

I try not to look at my situation as one of a fugitive. I may be an outcast from society, but that doesn't mean I should be restricted to fleeing and hiding for my entire life. No, that isn't what I'm doing. I prefer to think of myself as a free-range wanderer, an explorer if you will. Yeah, that's more like it. It has a much better ring to it than 'outlaw'. And when you really think about it, I guess you could say that I'm one of the few people in the entire world that is truly free. No responsibilities, no obligations, nothing. Just me and the open sky.

At least, that's what I tell myself to make my entire situation seem bearable. I mean, let's face the facts: I have really found myself caught between a rock and a hard place here. I doubt if I'll ever get out of this maddening state of loneliness. What's even worse is the fact that I have no one to blame for my current misfortune but myself.

But enough with the depressing talk. I shouldn't have to worry about that kind of stuff at a time like this. With spring well under way, the days are beginning to look just a bit less foreboding and a little more inviting, if such a thing can be possible for such an unfriendly place. A change in scenery would certainly be welcome, and a transition of seasons might be just the thing to invoke such a change.

Ever since I came to Tamriel, I have encountered the same landscape over and over again: tall mountains, chilling rock formations, scraggly trees, and scattered patches of dead grass. It's as if the land itself is withering. I remember asking one of the locals if they were going through some kind of drought, but he calmly informed me that the land had always looked this way. Gods, that was such a long time ago.

Even now, as I push through the dense underbrush in my mismatched armor and battered equipment, I wonder just how long ago it had been since I had last been able to walk among civilized people without being chased or attacked. It has been such a long time, it barely remains in my memory any longer. I wonder how long it will be before those memories leave my head altogether. Living out in the wilderness for countless days on end has done something to my psyche. I feel as though this new way of life is slowly consuming my mind, turning me into the role of the dangerous outlaw that I have unwillingly assumed. I must remain focused; transforming into the person that everyone presumes I am will only make it easier for them to kill me and collect the sizeable bounty on my head. The last time I checked, my bounty stood at 300,000 septims, but since I've killed a few people since then, I'm sure it's gone up a bit.

I stop to rest only when absolutely necessary. I know that, even now, there are bandits and farmers alike pursuing me, following my footsteps, trying to get even the slightest advantage over me so they can make their move. I am living like a hunted animal. I suppose there's no use denying the credibility of that analogy. After all, I have been reduced to nothing more than a prize that must be caught and killed. An unsettling thought, but I daresay it is the truth.

A rustling in the bushes to my left immediately catches my attention. I stop moving and crouch down low, straining my ears to pick up on the slightest sound. I have gone through such a situation so many times, it has virtually become second nature to me. I have since lost track of the number of would-be hunters I have slain.

Slowly, cautiously, I draw my rusted and battered spear and hold it loosely in my right hand while I crawl silently towards the direction of the noise. Although I don't necessarily enjoy fighting, I realize that it is a necessary evil. If I don't fight, I will surely be killed. My crimes are so expansive that the bounty on my head is only good if I am dead. That is why my situation is so hopeless; the only two choices I have are kill or be killed.

After several tense minutes of sneaking through the underbrush, I hide behind a thick patch of scathepaw and peer through a gap in the leaves. I let out a sigh of relief at the sight: it is only a pair of travelers who have set up camp in a small clearing. They are sitting around a small campfire, sharing a pot of stew and talking among themselves. It seems they haven't yet noticed my presence. Just as I am about to take my leave, I remind myself that they may still be dangerous. Too often have I encountered weary wanderers who simply could not pass up the chance to kill the notorious outlaw. The price on my head is enough to turn even the most mild-mannered people into desperate berserkers. I must be cautious in my departure.

As I back away from the pair, I move as slowly as possible to prevent my armor from making any noise. Clanking armor would surely capture the attention of the camping pair, and I am simply too tired to fight right now. Unfortunately, the goddess of Fate has decided that I should not make my escape so easily, and she endeavors to thwart my movement by planting thorny chokeweed all around me.

I unwittingly push aside a patch of the loathsome plant only to have the sharp thorns slice through the exposed skin of my hand. I yelp in pain and bite my lip to prevent any more noise from escaping my mouth, but it is too late. A gruff voice shouts from behind me, "Who's there? Show yourself!"

I clutch my lacerated right hand in my left in an effort to stop the bleeding, but it is futile. I need to tie the wound off with a cloth, and I need to do so immediately. I glance behind me to see if the travelers know where I am. Much to my dismay, I see that one of them has a bow and arrow nocked and pointed in my general direction. Shit. It doesn't look like I'll be able to escape now. I should just play it safe and pretend to be a weary traveler like them. With luck, they won't recognize me; and if they do, I'll just have to fight my way out.

With a heavy sigh of resignation, I slowly raise my hands into the air until I see that both of the uncertain travelers have noticed them. Then, I stand up in the same slow fashion and walk to within a non-threatening distance of them. As I approach, I get a better look at the pair. They appear to be two dunmer, one male and one female. The female has the bow and arrow pointed steadily at my heart, while the male is holding a wicked-looking mace loosely in one hand. They are both clothed in the simple garb of townsfolk, but I notice that the female has a crest of a sorceress embedded on the sleeve of her robe. I also notice a well-crafted shield leaning against a knapsack near the fire; it has an elaborate coat of arms on it announcing that it belongs to a great warrior. I should definitely be wary of these two.

When I determine that I have moved close enough, I say in as humble a tone as I can muster, "Here now, what's this all about? There's no need to treat a simple traveler like a criminal, now is there?"

The male looks me up and down, taking in the unusual sight of my mismatched armor. Perhaps he will decide that someone with such shameful equipment cannot possibly be dangerous. At least, that is what I'm hoping he will decide.

After a few uncertain moments, he asks, "Do you mind telling me why you were sneaking around back there?"

"Well, what other alternative did I have? I didn't know if you were friendly or hostile, and I certainly didn't want to announce my presence if you were the latter," I explain with my hands still held above my head. By now, the blood dripping from the wound on my hand is beginning to run down my arm. I ignore it and continue, "Come to think of it, I still don't know which you are. So tell me: what are your intentions now that you have caught me?"

"Well," the male eyes me wearily, "To tell you the truth, I haven't quite decided yet. Take off your helmet and let's get a good look at your face."

I silently curse my luck. I take great care to only wear helmets that cover up my face. These two might not recognize me yet, but if they see my face, they would surely recognize me and try to kill me. These two seem to be seasoned fighters, and I certainly don't want to kill such experienced warriors. That would be such a waste.

Luckily, I don't have to worry about that possibility at the moment, for the female with the bow and arrow speaks up, "Mero, show a little compassion. Just look at the man's arm. Surely such a wound is causing him a great deal of pain. Let's treat it first and ask questions later."

The male dunmer known as Mero shoots an annoyed glance at his companion, but the look quickly subsides. He folds his arms across his chest and looks at me once more. With a sniff of resignation, he says, "All right, fine. Come over here and sit by the fire, stranger. Let's get that cut bandaged up." I am only too happy to comply.

With the three of us gathered around the fire, the female dunmer puts away her bow while Mero digs some gauze and a small vial from his pack. I settle down on the coarse sand and present my injured right hand for the man to work on. As I do so, the female rests her hands on her lap and asks, "And what might your name be, stranger?"

"Corrin Savage," I lie. I had been using this alias for a while now, and I see no reason to switch to a new one quite yet.

When she sees that I do not intend to volunteer any more information, the female continues, "Well, my name is Fiana Bierrou, and this is Mero Silvis," she motions to her companion.

I prepare to respond, but a sharp stinging in my hand causes me to forget my words. I draw my hand away from Mero before he gets the chance to splash some more of the burning liquid in my wound.

"Calm down now, friend," Mero instructs as he reaches for my hand, "This medicine will kill any bacteria in the cut and help it to heal faster. Trust me; a moment or two of pain is well worth the price of avoiding infection."

I am skeptical, but my better judgment tells me that I can trust these two for the time being. I present my hand again and try my best to ignore the burning that the strange liquid causes.

"Tell me, stranger," Fiana says, "From what parts do you hail?"

"Well, I am originally from Zabat country to the north, but I haven't been there in many seasons. I recall leaving there with my mother when I was very young and coming here to Tamriel. I don't really have a place to call home now; I just wander the land living under the sky and the stars. This whole country is my home," I recite my well-thought-out story for perhaps the hundredth time. None of it is true, of course, but I see no reason to share my true background with these two quite yet.

"I see. That certainly sounds exciting," Fiana responds, completely convinced that I am telling the truth, "By the way, are you hungry, sir? We have plenty of stew."

I am momentarily uncertain. I glance to Mero, but he seems intent on tying a long length of gauze around my hand. He shows no sign that he has heard his partner's offer. I answer politely, "Yes, please. I appreciate your generosity."

"Think nothing of it," Fiana says good-naturedly as she spoons some of the thick stew into a clay bowl and hands it to me, "As it turns out, Mero and I are in a state of transition as well. Isn't that right?" she turns to her partner.

Mero nods once as he begins to put the gauze and medicine back into his knapsack, "Aye, that's correct. We're on our way to Corona to request an audience with the duke."

At first, I am certain that I have not heard him correctly. It just so happens that I am on my way to Corona as well, although I am going there for a completely different reason. Before I can stop myself, my mouth opens and the words come gushing out unabated, "Well, what a coincidence. I'm heading there as well. Why don't we travel together?"

Mero seems momentarily shocked. He turns to his partner, who I notice has broken into a wide grin. Fiana says with a touch of excitement in her voice, "Of course. The more the merrier. We would be happy to have you along. Isn't that right, Mero?"

"Sure, sure," Mero says a bit uncertainly, "Traveling through these parts can be dangerous sometimes. An extra warrior will be helpful if we run into trouble, although we will definitely have to do something about the shameful condition of your armor."

I can't help but chuckle at his comment, "I know it's nothing pretty to look at, but it gets the job done. I just sort of take what I need from bandits I run into and leave my broken and damaged equipment behind." This time I am telling the truth. I used to own a fine suit of armor worthy of the best knights, but after I had that damned bounty put on my head, I was not able to enter any towns to get it repaired. Thus, portions of my armor slowly rusted and broke over time, and I was forced to replace piece by piece as it became too battered to be of any use. After countless seasons of such inconsistent replacement, I am left with the patchwork that I wear now.

"Well, I happen to be friends with the smith in Corona. I'm sure I can help you get a discount on some of his wares," Mero offers, and I can see that he is beginning to warm up to my presence. This is good. It has been a long time since I last had people trust me.

"So, if you don't mind me asking," I begin cautiously, "What business do you have with the duke of Corona?"

"I'm glad you asked," Fiana says excitedly, "You see, I have been developing a vaccine for the Crass Sickness for quite a while now, and I recently came across a discovery during my experimentations," she reaches into her own knapsack and digs out a wad of gauze, which she slowly unwraps with cautious movements. After several moments of this, she pulls a small vial of greenish liquid out of the gauze and holds it out for me to see, "This medicine I hold in my hands has the power to remove rust and actually strengthen certain types of metal," she says reverently, "I discovered this quite by accident. You see, I was trying to find some sort of substance that would dissolve the excess mucus that develops along the capillaries as a result of the Crass Sickness, so I tried adding some zan root to my original potion. Well, what I didn't know was that since zan root is such a harsh acid when it is refined and purified, adding it to any other substance would surely cause a drastic drop in pH. And when such a drop occurs fast enough, the resulting energy released is powerful enough to dissolve many different kinds of substances. Well, upon making this discovery, I decided that if I could cause the drop in pH to occur fast enough, I may be able to get even more energy released. Therefore, I tried adding some pilmer hide, since everyone knows that the pilmer secretes a sort of oil from its skin that repels water. This pilmer oil is also incredibly sensitive to changes in composition when it comes into contact with substances that are very acidic, such as the potion I had devised. Well, when I added the pilmer hide, the chemical reaction that resulted was so violent that --"

"Fiana, please, you're getting carried away again," Mero interrupts gently.

"Oh, yes, my apologies," the dark elf says, flustered, "Anyway, I tested the properties of this liquid, and I found out that it can restore older metals to their original strength and luster. Think of it! If this substance can be produced in mass quantities, we will no longer have to rely on blacksmiths to repair our metals. Entire kingdoms will be able to keep the equipment of their armies in tip-top shape for generations on end. This invention may very well change the way we live our lives," Fiana finishes with an excitement not unlike that of a child.

"And since the duke of Corona has earned a reputation for being a fair and understanding man, we felt that he would be the best person to see regarding this discovery," Mero adds.

"I see," I respond, still trying to decided what was important and what was not in Fiana's impassioned explanation. Feeling a bit slow-minded, I ask, "So, am I correct in assuming that you are an alchemist?"

Fiana nods, "Yes, that is correct. Alchemy is my second-best skill, after magic, of course."

"Ah, I thought I recognized the crest on your sleeve," I point out, "I understand that both alchemy and sorcery require a great deal of patience and skill. They certainly don't sound like my kind of hobby."

Fiana laughs, and I can't help but find the sound pleasant, "Yes, it's true that they both require a lot of time to perfect, but I just can't see myself doing anything else."

I nod and turn to Mero, "And what about you, friend? What is your trade?"

"I am a scout," Mero responds lazily, "And part of my job is to escort travelers like Miss Fiana through dangerous country."

Ah, so that is the relationship between these two. I press on, "A scout, eh? Now that job sounds like something more suited for my tastes. You get to live in the outdoors, learn the lore and culture of many different areas, and you can meet all kinds of people. Sounds like fun."

"Aye, that it is," Mero agrees, "Although there are a few customers like Miss Fiana who insist on traveling between towns every few days. I've escorted her to so many parts of this country that folks are beginning to think of us as permanent traveling companions."

"Why, you say that like it's a bad thing," Fiana teases, "I can't help it if I come up with so many new substances in the course of my alchemic tinkering. Do you expect me to keep these discoveries to myself?"

"No, no, of course not," Mero says, "I just wonder about your health, that's all. You spend so much time with your experiments, I know you have been missing out on meals and sleep on more than one occasion. You tend to ignore things like that when you start working on a new project."

"Well, your concern is appreciated," Fiana says humbly, "But I can assure you that I take care of myself just fine. And sometimes, my work can be more important than my health."

"So you say," Mero answers, although he does not sound at all convinced, "Just don't be surprised if your work ends up being the death of you."

"Excuse me, I hate to interrupt," I interject, "but it is beginning to get late. Perhaps it would be best if we get some sleep now. The mountains that stand between us and Corona will not be easy to pass, and we will need all of our energy to get through them."

"Aye, you have a point there," Mero says knowingly. He goes to unpack a blanket from his pack, but looks at me as a thought enters his mind, "Do you have a bedroll, Corrin? If not, you can use mine."

"Oh, no, thank you for the offer, but I'm fine on my own," I answer, "I'm perfectly comfortable sleeping on the ground, thank you."

"Very well," Mero responds with a shrug.

It takes several minutes for me to take off all of my armor and put it in a neat pile. Much to my dismay, I realize that in order to keep my identity hidden, I will have to keep my helmet on for the entire time that I am in the company of these two travelers, even as I sleep. The thought makes my heart sink. What have I gotten myself into?

When I have finally settled down to sleep, I can't help but notice how uncomfort- able my helmet really is. Wearing it as I lie down leaves my neck bent at a painful angle, and laying my head on my arm does little to mollify my discomfort. For a moment, I consider taking it off, but I realize that if either of them happens to awaken before me and see my face, then I would be at their mercy. No, I will just have to endure this pain for the time being. It is better than waking up dead, I suppose.