David
He entered Whiterun as a single guard in weathered yellow held one of the doors open for him to slip through. The man nodded to him, and closed the gate.
"You Ragnar?" Asked David.
"I am, you from Riverwood?"
"That depends on who you let in, I guess. Would your jarl be more interested in meeting a witness to happened this morning in Helgen, or a courier from Riverwood."
"Hard for me to say, but he will hear you all the same, I'm sure."
"Really now?" David asked, not entirely sure of what to think about the lock down that was enforced on non-residents. "Does he expect the dragon to come on foot, and break through the gate rather than fly over the wall?" He gestured at the heavy wooden doors behind him.
"Why don't you ask Jarl Balgruuf?" Ragnar shrugged. "Well see him soon."
"Sounds good, let's go."
With that they started up the rough cobblestone road that was the town's main drag.
It was late in the evening, and fires burned bright along the road in anticipation of sunset, its late summer sky now a beautiful dim orange. The buildings along side the road held a strong element of charm that he rarely found in his travels. Where the buildings in Helgen and Riverwood, were simple, here the ornate wooden structures seemed built to last.
What really interested him, was the planning of this town. The buildings were well spaced and orderly. For a walled city, Whiterun still had a small town feel. That really stood out.
Whether it was an old factory, an easy to defend collection of city blocks, a stadium, or even an old prison like the Lodge off the windy 90, virtually every well fortified town he had visited with a few notable exceptions had a premium on safe space.
He could count on such places to be stuffed on the inside with people both the rich and poor who considered themselves privileged to wallow in the filthy, disease ridden conditions in exchange for life within a fortified community.
Here though, gardens wrapped the shops and houses instead of shacks. One establishment that caught his eye, seemed to be half surounded by trees that actually looked like part of the buildng. A sign on the path from the entry plaza marked it as The Drunken Huntsmen.
A few steps down the road his focus shifted to the first person to catch his eye, and he nearly stopped in his tracks. A man with blond hair braided in local fashion wore the crimson and brown of the legion. He was beside the street, making conversation with a woman caked in grime and having the unmistakable appearance of a metal worker.
David quickly recovered his wits and listened to the conversation taking care not to show too much interest.
"We'll pay whatever it takes, but we must have more swords for the Legion," said the blond legionary in a deep voice.
The woman was not convinced,a! he could tell. "I can't fill an order that size on my own, why don't you just shallow that stubborn pride of yours and ask Eorlund Grey-Mane for help?"
The quartermaster or whatever he was, scoffed in disbelief as they walked past. "I would sooner bend the knee to Ulfric Stormcloak. Besides, Grey-Mane and his ilk would never make steel for the Legion."
Grey-Mane? Related to White-Mane by any chance, David wondered.
"Fine, have it your way." The metal smith conceded. "I'll take the job, but don't expect a miracle."
"Don't like the legion much do you?" Ragnar asked as soon as they were out of earshot.
"Do you?" David wasn't sure where the allegiance of this town was, but it sounded as if it were split down the middle.
"Hmph," snorted Ragnar from behind his helmet. "The Empire or the Stormcloaks. Not sure which one is the lesser evil to tell you the truth. The Stormcloaks are nothing with their leaders, though and the Legion has them now. At least the war will end before it starts."
David tried in vain to choke back laughter. The guard merely stared at him, his face left unreadable by the mask.
"How much do you about Helgen?"
"Nothing really," replied Ragnar. "We heard the dragon this morning, and a few witnesses swear it came from the South, but passed Riverwood by."
David nodded. "How did you know about Ulfric's capture?"
"Some loud mouthed praefect from the legion came yesterday morning with the news. Said they got him at Darkwater Pass, just as he was returning to Eastmarch."
"How did the jarl take it?"
Ragnar was silent for a moment. "I hear he was relieved."
"Relieved?" That didn't sound good.
"It's no secret that the two have been rivals since childhood, I imagine that he was sick of dealing with Jarl Ulfric."
"Can't wait to see how he takes the news then."
The road opened to form a roundabout. By the fringe of the street, men, women and children lounged about the marketplace populated with empty stalls whose vendors had already packed up for the day. The sight of it, was something he needed a moment to admire.
"Come on friend," Ragnar broke him out of the trance he had fallen into. "Dragonsreach is this way."
He followed Ragnar to a stairwell on the left to what he assumed was the uptown of Whiterun. After climbing the steps, they walked around a huge tree that still stood proudly in the middle of an intersection despite its clear age. The tree had formed the basis for a park within the intersection that was as charming as it was tiny. Pine benches, and gardens lined both sides of the road sheltered by a great circular awning. Around it, a system of canals, carried water almost knee deep to the cities lower levels.
The houses and buildings up here, were somewhat larger than those of the lower level, with many looking to be at least two stories tall.
As they walked around the tree he took in some new sights. The first thing he noticed was a single building on a hill that looked almost as if it were a wooden ship capsized on dry land as someone's home from where he stood.
It didn't hold his attention for long, and his focus shifted to a stone statue nearby of a man in armor and a blade held with both hands. His head was adorned with an ornate wing-crested helmet head, and a long cloak trailed down his back. Beneath him, a dying snake laying at his feet fangs barred and pinned down by a boot over its neck.
In front of the statue stood a priest garbed in a yellow hooded robe that obscured the sight of his face. The priest's voice rang with a powerful cadence as he delivered his sermon.
"Terrible and powerful Talos!" the priest bellowed. "Your unworthy servants, give praise! For only through your grace and benevolence may we truly reach enlightenment! And deserve our praise you do, for we are one! Ere you ascended and the Eight became Nine, you walked among us, great Talos, not as god, but as man!"
"Brave fool," muttered the guard from under his helmet.
"Who's he?" David wondered what the big deal was.
"That's Heimskr, no amount of arrests will stop him from preaching." Ragnar replied.
"How's that?" David asked.
"Watch your step; wouldn't want to fall here," by the tone of the guards voice, he was not inclined to talk about it.
The path ahead him was a tall set of stairs flanked by pools of water, that led all the way to the summit of the city. At the top of that hill loomed the immense figure of what could only be the jarl's residence.
The castle inspired a sense of awe within the former courier. He'd seen many wooden buildings, but never once had he laid eyes on one even half its size.
David followed Ragnar up the numerous steps, feeling the chilly breezes from the nearby mountains blow past him. Before long they had made it to the top, where they were greeted with a wooden bridge that felt like a front porch more than anything. At it's end, two tall wooden doors marked the castle entrance that a single man in metal armor and brownish yellow cloth that marked him as a city watchman.
As they crossed the bridge, he contemplated the state of the castle. To his surprise, the castle was rather old. Though it had aged well, he could still find signs of natural wear and tear on the thick wooden beams and arches that supported the ceiling.
"Can I help you?" asked the guard posted right before the doors to the stronghold
"He needs to speak to the jarl," Ragnar spoke to the guard at the door, and gestured to David. "About Riverwood."
The watchman looked him over for a moment, probably wondering if he was worth allowing inside.
"Very well. You may go inside," the man grunted.
"This is where I go back to the gate. Now do what you came to."
"I will. Be sure to fill you in on the latest gossip next time we meet." David thanked the man, and watched him march back over the bridge and disappear down the adjacent stairway.
David turned back to the huge doors, as the guard opened them for him. When they shut behind him, he paused to survey the hall before him.
He had thought that the old building would smell musty and at least show some signs of decay as he had seen outside. Instead, the old castle showed few indications of age within, and was lovingly maintained in a manner only seen in places like the strip.
In front of him was yet another damned flight of stairs, flanked by fire pots. Beyond, he could make out two banquet tables and a fire pit.
As he trod up the stairs, he caught sight of the Jarl himself seated leisurely on a wooden throne, deep in conversation with someone.
As he approached, a tall woman in boiled leather emerged from the shadows to the left with her sword drawn. Unless he was seeing things, her skin was a dark blue, and her eyes a blood red.
Is this what aliens are supposed to look like? If he was really on another planet, which seemed more plausible with every passing hour, why was he only seeing them now.
Then again, he saw what he was fairly certain were cat people outside the city.
"What's the meaning of this interruption," the alien challenged. "Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors."
"How about a message then? From the people of Riverwood."
"It's all right, Irileth. I want to hear what he has to say." The Jarl gestured for her to stand down, which she did.
He fished out the note from his pack written and signed by Gerdur. David offered her the message, which she took and read. She squinted at the words and read them aloud.
"Riverwood is defenseless and requires aid for the event of a dragon attack such as the one that befell Helgen."
The words had left the room in horrified silence for a moment.
"By Ysmir, Irileth you were right," declared the jarl when he found his words.
Still, Irileth continued. "Signed on the seventeenth of Last Seed, Gerdur of Riverwood."
"Gerdur?" The blond man on the throne asked to no one in particular." Owns the lumber mill, if I'm not mistaken. Pillar of the community. Not prone to flights of fancy... I must ask though, are you sure Helgen was destroyed by a dragon?"
"The city is locked down, but you haven't heard yet?" David decided to probe him as much as he could while giving the account. "Ulfric Stormcloak and his people were brought to Helgen in carts. Tulius gave them to the headsman one by one, when the dragon came down. The monster destroyed Helgen and burned many of its people."
"So that's where they took him, I should have guessed Ulfric would be mixed up in this. What happened to him?" Balgruuf beckoned for him to continue.
"Ulfric? How can I put this?" David asked the jarl and let the words hang for a moment. The jarl squirmed in his chair as if the suspense would kill him.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, is alive and well." Before it could register, he continued. "He escaped while the Dragon burned Helgen from above, and is on his way back home."
By the time he finished, Balgruuf, Irileth, and a swarthy man with thinning hair who he could not identify, wore faces that ranged from shocked to horrified.
"It seems that civil war is inevitable now," the balding advisor offered his input.
"This could not happen at a worse time," replied Balgruuf.
"My lord," Irileth addressed her jarl. "we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, even if that dragon is not lurking in the mountains... "
"Jarl Siddgier will view that as a provocation," countered the advisor. "He will assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him now that he's back on the loose."
"Enough!" Balgruuf wasn't having it. "Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood, I want them marching south at first light tomorrow."
"Yes, my Jarl." Her reply was swift and automatic.
The advisor stepped forward, "We should not..."
"I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!" Balgruuf cut him off.
The man at the jarl's side bowed his head knowing the final word had been said. "If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties."
"That would be best," Jarl Balgruuf gruffly affirmed.
When the advisor turned away, the jarl turned to address him.
"Well done stranger. You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it." He got up from his seat on the dais, and came down to his level. "You deserve a reward, but first, I'd like you to meet my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons. "
The Courier suppressed a chuckle, and followed the Jarl through an opened door. Inside, he was greeted by a dark haired man in a purple robe, wearing the biggest side burns he'd ever seen.
"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill him in with all the details." Balgruff turned face him as he left. "When the two of you are done, talk to my steward. He will see to your needs and your reward."
With that, the jarl left the room.
"So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?" the man in the purple robe posed the question once Balgruuf was gone. "Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons."
When Balgruuf mentioned a court wizard, he expected to meet an illiterate shaman or some hideously mutilated witch doctor. Farengar, though was nothing like he expected. Instead, he carried himself like an educated scientist on government payroll.
Still, there was something odd about him. More to the point, something was off about his office. Maybe it was the dark metal table behind him that held the skull of something that looked vaguely human.
"How so? Hoping to hear the story of a survivor?"
Farengar nodded, "Your account of what happened at Helgen, could save many lives should the dragon attack Whiterun, but that's only the first part."
"Sure, what then?"
"You stranger, have the look of an adventurer about you."
"Sounds like a job offer," grunted David in acknowledgment.
"Very clever of you," said the 'wizard'. "You're familiar with Riverwood, and I could use somebody to delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there"
"Ancient stone tablet?" David questioned aloud. "I'm gonna guess this has something to do with dragons."
"Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker, perhaps even a scholar?" Farengar was clearly in the mood to indulge the curious. "You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons – where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from?"
"Don't know, a lab somewhere?" David guessed based on his adventures in Big MT.
Farengar ignored him, clearly not amused by his suggestion. "I learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow. A 'Dragonstone,' as the ancient Nords called it, said to contain a map of dragon burial sites."
Bleak Falls Barrow. A thought flickered, He was certain he had seen it on the road to Riverwood.
"I need you go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet, no doubt interred in the main chamber, and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."
"Uh huh, how dangerous is this job supposed to be?" Something about the job felt too easy from the way he described it.
"Truth be told, I have no idea. The old Nordic ruins are often favored hideouts for bandits, and that is to say nothing of the traps and other horrors within the ruins themselves."
David thought it over for a moment. "You know, I've taken a few jobs over the years, jobs that involved rescuing people who bit off more than they could chew, or were in trouble because of faulty intel from folks like yourself?"
"Intel?" Farengar asked not understanding its meaning.
Shit, he cursed himself mentally. If he wanted to fit in, he would adapt the local colloquialisms, and learn not to use certain words.
"Sorry, that's military speak for knowledge I enter the job with."
"I see," replied Farengar. "What are you suggesting?"
"I'm not from around here, as you might have guessed. If this operation is to be successful, I'm going to need to know more about the area for this?"
Farengar pondered his words before replying. "The Jarl will want to know all he can about the dragons, and will invest some resources into an expedition. You will need to be adequately provisioned for such a journey, as you look like Oblivion right now."
"Good to know, a map wouldn't hurt." In the absence of his pip-boy, David really needed a map.
"We will have a pack ready one for you by sunrise then, anything else?" He should not have asked that.
"Yeah, a guide would be nice. Some drinking money too. Also, I've been feeling pain whenever I need to take a leak, Do you have anything for that?"
Farengar stared at him uncomfortably for a few seconds, before retreating to what looked to be a large medicine cabinet. He produced a flask filled with a bright red liquid.
"What's in it?"
"A cure disease potion," replied the wizard whose tone was too matter of fact for a your run of the wastes Nightstalker Oil salesman on a medicine show circuit along Big Circle. "you should probably carry one if you continue delving into dangerous caves like the adventurer you are."
I see what you did there, David grinned. "Actually, another wizard grabbed me by the special place a couple days ago, and left me with one nasty burn."
The court wizard returned to the med storage, and produced a much smaller vial with a liquid that looked much like the disease potion, though more pinkish in color, and looked similar to the compound found in stimpacks.
"Then I believe this will suffice," he offered the concoction, which David took "This will take care of most burns."
David looked it over for a moment before tossing off the cap, and putting the contents of the vial down the hatch. The potion was bitter, using a strong alcohol as a base and god knew whatever else. The burn washed over him, and he could feel the drink hit his stomach.
Suddenly, he felt good. It was almost as if he had taken a shot of Med-X, except without the damned syringe. A few moments later, he felt a pleasurable stirring in his groin. The burn which was not healing as fast as he wanted, was no longer felt. A second look at his pants, and he realized that they might be glowing.
Before he could react though, the glow subsided, and David took a moment to feel himself. He would not look with Farengar in the room, but he could tell that the burns had healed as a fair amount blood flowed to his shaft.
"Well I'll be damned," thought David.
"Thank you very much," David extended his free hand. The wizard took it graciously.
"We'll be sure to send you away with some potions tomorrow. As for coin, I can't promise anything myself, but you shall have some eventually. The Companions could really use contracts now though, so we can get probably get one for a reasonable rate to keep you alive."
He thought about the band of warriors he had met on the farmstead. They would know the land far better than he could. David decided it was fair.
"Its a deal then, all I need tonight is a meal, and a place to sleep."
"You should come with me then," Farengar gestured to the hallway. "Our steward Proventus, will surely find accommodation for your most reasonable demands. After that, we can feast in the hall, and I can hear you story."
"So what's an evening meal like around here?" David asked the wizard as they climbed a flight of stairs to the right of the jarl's throne.
"Well, I think a modest feast is in order for the occasion. Tell me though, have you ever had Mammoth?"
Author's note: I don't know how, but I managed to pull through much earlier this time. Thanks to all who bother to follow this story.