AN: So I know that I haven't been very active recently with this, that's a combination of the fact that this was never meant to be a regularly updated story, that I finished Skyrim (as much as one can (I've also now restarted it)), and work taking the front seat.

Anyway, hope you all enjoy this. I'll try to get something out for you guys and gals in the next… six months.

Enjoy.

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Fus Ro-ght Off A Cliff

Klimmek gave of a relaxing sigh as he leaned against the Mountain Bridge of Ivarstead, the bridge that connected the town to the Throat of the World. Ever since that strange traveller had begun to regularly trek up the mountain to give supplies to the Greybeards, he'd begun to find more times like this, where he found himself with nothing to do.

Just some months ago, he should have been halfway up the Throat of the World by now, on another trip, but the stranger, clad in his even stranger armour, had merely turned up, asked if Klimmek had any supplies to give him before heading up the mountain. It was getting to the point where Klimmek was beginning to feel like he could pay the man before he returned, trusting that he actually was making sure the Greybeards got their supplies.

The Greybeards hadn't come down yet to say otherwise so Klimmek felt it was reasonable to assume the man was true on his word and was delivering the foodstuffs.

It wasn't all the time that Klimmek found himself with time to spare, but it was enough that he began to find himself getting use to the idea. He still made the odd trip if the stranger didn't turn up on time but generally, he could go for a few months at a time without having to take the Pilgrimage to High Hrothgar.

This didn't leave him with nothing to do, however. Klimmek also doubled as a fisherman and there was always a need for food.

But when he had spare time like this, Klimmek just liked to stop and think about things. Usually he liked to think about personal things but things weren't exactly good between himself and Fastred at the moment, so he instead thought about how the general happiness of the village seemed to be a little higher recently.

Wilhelm, the barkeeper of the Vilemyr Inn, had managed to gather enough coin from his fellow villagers to pay a couple of builders to fix Narfi's house. Klimmek had done his part for the poor man, offering a few coins to help him.

Now, only a month after they'd started, the Narfi's home was looking better than ever. A new roof kept the rain off of the man's head while proper walls kept the early winter chill at bay. It seemed the kindness of his fellow villages and the restoration of his house had an effect on Narfi, the slightly deranged man was beginning to talk to his fellow villagers again, to socialise.

He still spoke in that strange way as he had done since the death of his sister, but Klimmek liked to think that he saw Narfi smiling more now than he ever had before.

"…o dah."

A dull boom high up in the mountain drew Klimmek from his thoughts but he passed it off quickly.

Having made the Pilgrimage to the Greybeards, masters of the Voice, so many times, Klimmek was used to hear such sounds coming from above him and nothing having ever come from it.

It was only when something flashed in front of sun, which was just peaking out from behind the Throat of the World, that Klimmek raised his head. It was a white blur. A large white blur.

Klimmek's eyes quickly tracked its course to the ground, eyes widening as he realized its target would be Narfi's house. The man himself was standing just outside the building, staring blankly into the rushing water of the river.

"Narfi!" Klimmek shouted, no doubt garnering looks from the other villages. "Move now!"

The deranged man raised his head to look at Klimmek but had no time to do anything else as the white object slammed through the roof of his nearly finished house, sending splinters flying.

Shouts of shock and exclamation ran through the observers at the sight. Those inside buildings were drawn out by the noise and Narfi's loud yells of 'Mean Dragonborn!' as he ran from his, once again, wrecked home. Quickly, nearly the entire village had gathered at the remnants of Narfi's home to investigate what had caused the destruction.

"It's a frost troll!" One of the guards exclaimed as he looked over the furry beast, a few of his comrades be his side as he crouched next to the four-eyed monster. A few in the crowd immediately recoiled at the announcement while others moved closer to get a better view.

'It was a frost troll,' Klimmek added mentally as he got a look at the creature. Its limbs twisted and body crushed, not even a troll's fabled self-healing could undo that damage.

"A dead frost troll," some from the crowd said, voicing Klimmek's thoughts.

"How'd it get here?" Another person questioned.

"It must have just fallen off of the mountain," another guard said with a wave of her hand, "probably slipped off a cliff."

"… dah."

There was another dull 'boom' from further up the mountain, and unlike last time, Klimmek immediately rose his head to the sky, as did many others.

Directly above him, a white speck seemed to be moving away from the mountain before it stopped and started to grow bigger.

Eyes bulging, Klimmek immediately began to push through the crowds, a few others doing the same as they realised what was happening.

"Move, move!" Klimmek shouted to some of the particularly dense people who didn't seem to notice what was happening. The panic in his tone must have clued them in however, as they quickly began to move away from Narfi's house and back towards the bridge into Ivarstead-proper.

Most people had moved back across the bridge when the second object hit. Thankfully, it had lacked the aim of the first and merely smashed into the hard earth beside Narfi's house in a mess of blood and guts. Despite not going as frequently anymore and being some distance away, Klimmek still recognised the partially intact head of one of the snow bears that called the Throat of the World their home.

"Still think it just fell off a cliff?" Klimmek heard someone behind him snark to another, most likely the guard who'd suggested such a thing.

"It must be Kynareth showing her anger with us," someone said.

"You mean Kyne?" Another person, most likely one of the older nords of the village, corrected.

"Why would it be Kynareth?" Wilhelm, the barkeeper, asked from right beside Klimmek.

"They fell from the sky, didn't they?"

"No, it must be Hircine. We've been cursed by a Daedric Prince!" That possibility brought for a wave of mutterings, villagers and guardsmen alike.

"Or Sheogorath," another person put forth, drawing louder mutterings from the crowd.

Klimmek, however, new slightly differently however. Despite not having actually ever seen the Greybeards, he had occasionally heard their uses of the Voice as he travelled up the mountain. The noises and whispered words of an unknown language that were happening now were eerily similar.

The rest of the town have rarely heard the Voices of the Greybeards, so it was understandable that they wouldn't be able to identify them immediately. But the idea that the masters of the Voice were behind this brought forth questions.

Why would the Greybeards do this? What could they possibly gain from making beasts rain from the sky?

Before Klimmek could voice his thoughts, another noise was heard from the higher reaches of the mountain. People immediately scattered and took shelter where they could, Klimmek doing the same.

He only hoped that they Greybeards stopped this soon.

How long could one keep pushing bears and trolls off of cliffs for? They'd have to tire eventually.

Right?

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AN: Not sure what the next chapter will be about, got a few in my head but we'll have to wait and see.

See ya next time.

The Right Stop