Alright, kitties, here's the deal with this story. I've been playing Skyrim since its original release on the Xbox 360 ages ago, to the point where I probably know more about Skyrim than I do about the city I've lived in almost all my life. That being said, I've recently begun a new game, and I've decided that I needed to create an actual character for this run through. One that had his own history, one that affected his decisions in the game. not just 'will I get good loot from this?' And so, as a little writing exercise, more to get back into the habit of doing more than just reworking old projects, I'm creating a story out of the things that happen during this playthrough. not every side quest will get its own story, but many will be mentioned. This will be a continuous work, and as such this will be the ONLY Author's note. Until the end of the story, that is.

Also, this will be the ONLY DISCLAIMER: I own no rights to any of the characters from the Elder Scrolls Series depicted within this story, and seek to make no profit from my work... Unless of course someone at Bethesda really enjoys what I'm doing over here, then I'll gladly take some of that officially licensed work money.

Without further ado, have a seat, grab some mead, and crank up that EPIC LUTE SOLO (10 HOURS) you've just been waiting for a reason to annoy your parents with, and enjoy the story.

Gather 'round, children, I'll tell you the tale,

Of noble Dragonborn, hearty and hale.

Who boasts wit so sharp, and an eye so keen,

With Boundless courage, faced the dread Alduin.

A timeless hero, from both near and far,

This is the story, of the bard Homvar.

Catchy, right? Well, it should be. Deeds as great as the ones I'm about to regale you with require appropriately compelling song. To be fair, though, I never thought that I would ever become the subject of my own work. After all, bards are meant to sing the story, not be the story. Oh well, nothing I can do about it now, other than sing about it and count my septims.

Well, what are you waiting for? Take up a seat, have that pretty young lass over there bring us both a bit of that Black-Briar Reserve, and get ready to be enthralled by the misadventures of Homvar, the reluctant Dragonborn.

I suppose I should start with how I even ended up back home in beautiful Skyrim to begin with. To be completely honest, I would have been quite happy remaining in Cyrodiil, plying my trade at whatever inn, or with whatever innkeeper's daughter that struck my fancy. Unfortunately, while I was in Bruma, a few uncouth Orcish ruffians took exception to my colorful retelling of the tale of the Grey Prince, and chased me for days. I had finally managed to give them the slip as I crossed the border into Skyrim. But, luck was not with me that day, and I found myself getting caught up in an Imperial ambush.

I woke up on a wagon next to none other than Ulfric Stormcloak, rubbing shoulders with Noblemen right away, so to speak. We were taken to Helgen, and within sight of some of the ugliest Thalmor agents I'd ever seen, was all but set to have my head separated from my shoulders, thinking that maybe I should have run for it like that Lohkir fellow.

It was then that the skies darkened, and out of the growing storm clouds, a massive dragon swooped down, riding on razor wings, spewing flame and fury upon the entire village. Had I not been ready to soil myself, I might have found it as beautiful as the words I now use to describe it. With the help of the Stormcloak soldier, Ralof, I managed to escape, though I did have to cut through a number of Imperials in order to do so. Never had I been so glad to have trained with a sword almost as well as I'd trained with my lute. I followed Ralof to his sister's home in Riverwood, and we had barely had so much as a sip of Hod's ale before Gerdur had asked me to take word of the attack to the Jarl in Whiterun. I had hoped to simply slip away to Solitude and go to the Bard's college, maybe teach a course on advanced luting, or even synonymous symmetry, but I could never say no to a pair of beautiful eyes, even if they were married to an excitable oaf like Hod.

And so, I found myself in the city of Whiterun, her walls feeling wholly inadequate after the display from that flying lizard. Even still, I brought Gerdur's concerns to Jarl Balgruuf, who sent a detachment of men to the village. He… not so subtly suggested that I remain near the city, as he believed he would have work for me in the near future. My plans for a quiet life of solitude in, well, Solitude thoroughly dashed, and finding myself short on coin, chose to join the Companions at their hall, Jorrvaskr. I quickly gained a rapport with that band of merry mercenaries, especially when they found that I could fight just as well as I could compose drinking songs. The wild and lithe beauty known as Aela seemed to remain wary within my presence, however, always fixing me with a scrutinizing glare whenever she thought I wasn't paying attention.

Eventually, Jarl Balgruuf called for me. His Court Wizard, a High Elf named Farengar had a task for me. He needed me to delve into a place of nightmares named Bleak Falls Barrow, an ancient Nordic burial mound, in the hopes that I could find something called a Dragonstone. I managed it, after killing an entire group of bandits and putting down more Draugr than I ever wanted to see in my lifetime. I also found a wall, full of strange letters that I'd never seen in my life. Oddly enough, I was able to understand a single word; Fuus. It resonated in my soul, though I didn't know why. No sooner had I returned -making a quick stop in Riverwood to return the Golden Claw to Lucen Valerius and his, erm, very grateful sister, Camilla- than word came of a dragon attacking a nearby watchtower. Stendarr's Mercy be damned, I was of course asked to help Irileth, Balgruuf's taciturn Dark Elf Housecarl, take the thrice-damned thing down.

By some miracle, and a creative application of fire magicks, we managed to take the ugly bastard down. Ahh, but if only it had been that simple, we would not have this amazing story to tell, my friend. You see, no sooner had the blasted creature breathed its last, it began to disintegrate, and some manner of power flowed through me, bringing that strange word once again to the forefront of my tired mind.

"Fuus!" I spoke without thinking, and by the grace of Kynareth, I had been facing a tree, and it easily stripped the bark from it. I had no desire to know what that wall of Force would have done to human skin. The stunned Guardsmen called me Dragonborn, but I shrugged them off, the Dragonborn was a myth of song, and I was most certainly not him.

It was night before I reached the walls of Whiterun, a terrible rumble resonated from the Throat of the World mountain, as if the mountain itself spoke a single word, "Dovah'kin." truly a grim portent for whichever poor fool that could be. But I was not he.

And next my friend is fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, where our story becomes far more interesting. But, I'm feeling rather parched. Perhaps another round before we begin in earnest?