A Baptism in Fire: Excerpts from the Journal of Kaviris Mstravos

13th of Last Seed, 4E 201

Blast it, Blast it, Blast it, Blast it! Why did those scum sucking Shatter-Shields have to hire a guard! It seemed like such a simple heist too... With its haul I could buy myself enough mead to last me through an ERA! But because of that damned guard, I'm now half way across this damned province with his damned blood on my damned hands! GAHH! Oh, and if you didn't assume already, I'm what you would called a wanted man, IN ALL NINE HOLDS! Those aristocrats have a way of getting word around. At least here near Whiterun I'm not freezing my piece off. By Nocturnal, I'd give anything for a nice fire and a tall flagon of mead right now...But anyways; it appears I'm merely a day or twos walk from the Cyrodillic border. Sure the Shatter-Shields have influence here in Skyrim, but in Cyrodill? I'm pretty sure those Imperials haven't even heard of Windhelm, nether less the name of that measly clan. All I have to do is lay low for a month or two and I'm a free Mer! Plus, I've heard rumors that the Thieves Guild is still notorious in the province, compared to those sniveling whelps back in Riften. I think I'm going to like it there.

15th of Last Seed, 4E 201

Sometimes I swear the gods have some sick desire to see me destroyed…A mere 3 miles from the border and what do I see? An entire LEIGON of Imperial Soldiers camped out by the damn path. Headed to Solitude to reinforce the garrison no doubt. Normally I'd be rooting for the guys, all for their cause to crush Ulfric and his army; but nowadays these soldiers are paranoid. I guess this rebellion piled upon the ever-present Thalmor threat (damned jaundice-skinned bastards) is nearly too much for the Empire to handle, shame. No doubt if I'd come anywhere near them they'd slap me in irons, declaring me a Stormcloak spy of some sort. Not that my current situation with the law puts me in a good position in the first place. But like that bastard Ulfric would let a Dunmer in his army after the atrocities he committed back home in Windhelm? Sometimes I would what side I'm even on…Oh well, I suppose in a day or two the legion will be cleared off. I'll just sit back and enjoy the scenery for a bit, perhaps search for some alchemy reagents. You never know when you need a good poison to paralyze a guard for a quick escape…or to kill one to make a point.

17th of Last Seed, 4E 201

Damn Legion patrols have me skittish as a deer! 5 in the past hour are WAY too many for mere coincidence; something's amiss. What could foster up so much Imperial presence here in the first place? I mean, by Nocturnal, we're at least 3 hours from any civilization besides any bandit camps, and the only noteworthy location out here is the lone gate set on the border of Cyrodill.

2 Hours Later

That noise…no mistaking it, that's the thunder of horses at gallop, I…I think that those Imperials found what..or who they're looking for; and whoever they are seem to be headed right in my direction. Looks like a confrontation will be eminent…Shadow guide me.

17th of Last Seed, 4E 201

Praise Nocturnal! By either some fluke or by a ridiculous amount of luck I've managed to escape my captors, although now I am lost within the wilds of Skyrim. I see a lake to the north, perhaps some sort of settlement is nearby; I'll make haste for it tomorrow...but, more importantly, captors you might ask? Such a notorious and dashing rouge such as I could be restrained by mere irons? Not for long! As the roar of the horses grew ever closer, I finally got a glimpse at the scene. A band of horsemen were in a chase, with an Imperial scouting party nipping at their heels. I quickly thought to myself, I needed to move if I didn't want to get trampled. In nearly an instant I was back at my camp, a quaint little spot butting up to a large efface of rock. As fate would have it would have it, those damn horsemen followed in my footsteps, resulting in all of use being cornered by the approaching Imperials, a SOUND tactical move if you ask me! And who might these horsemen be? Damn Stormcloak soldiers. Fuckers, I would have skinned them all alive if it wasn't for the charging Imperials a stone's throw away; bolstered with reinforcements from the nearby legion might I add! I drew my sword and readied myself…I couldn't believe I was going to aid the Stormcloaks at first, but an arrow whizzing past and ricocheting off the gray-blue stone behind quickly solidified my decision. Times like those make me wonder what the gods have planned for me, but oh well, Masser and Secunda are nearly at their highest, and my eyes are weighing down heavily. I'll finish the story tomorrow, now I rest.

18th of Last Seed, 4E 201

After an hour's walk however I finally made my way to the distant lake, and upon setting my eyes upon it, I instantly regained my coordinates. For the lake in suspect was Lake Ilinalta, in which the White River which runs past my very home town of Windhelm, flows forth from. If memory serves, there should be a settlement upstream, Riverwood I think. Travel will be slow due to myself being unarmed, being out at night is near suicide, and if I'm correct about those clouds in the distance, a rainstorm would just add on to the delay in my journey.

So, surrounded by Imperial soldiers and with my back up against a cliff face, I was faced with only one option; to fight along Ulfric's bastards. Removing my steel blade from it's sheath worn on my left hip, I turned to face my first opponent, a legionnaire clad in the standard studded leather uniform. A quick riposte left him giving his amends to his gods. Quickly surveying the scene, I spotted a mix of red and blue uniforms dirtying the lush forest undergrowth. The deaths were equal on both sides, but the Legion overwhelmed the Stormcloaks in regards to numbers.

Again I leaped back into the fray. Parrying a swipe from a short but stout Imperial blade, I lashed back with a stab from the dagger worn on my opposite hip. The stab landed its mark slightly above the legionnaire's leg, and left the auburn haired Nord in a crippled kneel; there would be no further use combatting him. A dueling Stormcloak and Imperial were locked in an embrace of steel to my right. The Imperial held the clear advantage and has already made his mark on the Stormcloak, giving him a cruel gash across his shield-bearing harm. Now fundamentally defenseless, the Stormcloak was on the retreat, backing away from his foe whilst parrying the multiple blows. The lead-brained Nord however failed to realize he was heading right towards me…I'm not sure exactly how it occurred, but while being crushed by 250 pounds of pure Nord, my weapons were knocked out of my hands. Shoving the dead bastard off of me (I guess the Legionnaire got in a fatal blow during the fall) I attempted to get back onto my feet. It was useless however, as my blade was just out of arms reach, while the tip of the Imperial's was lingering dangerously close (speaking of which, how do they stand those blades? Its about the same wielding a damn dagger). Staring down at the blade, I was left with no choice but to surrender. The legionnaire responded to my plea with the bash of a shield. The world went black.

Damn weather, the storm I sensed earlier finally begun to make itself known. I need to find shelter, and fast. Even in Falkreath hold, the nights are notoriously cold, and dealing with them drenched could prove deadly.

18th of Last Seed, 4E 201

A nearby cave was just the shelter I needed. Seems I've avoided the majority of the downpour, but its too late to travel the roads now, the predators will be out, and after the "incident" I am still without any weaponry. Anyways, back on with the tale…

I awoke in irons sprawled out in a horse drawn cart. According to the blonde Nord seated across from me, I was out for some time, but the Imperials decided to spare the remained Stormcloaks (cowards must have all surrendered shortly after I was downed) and myself in favor of a public execution, some sort of "sparing" eh?

So, I sat there, on the way to the now destroyed town of Helgen (more on that later) towards my soon to be execution. Things weren't looking good, but I still remained confident, all I needed was an opening, a diversion of some sort; and by Nocturnal did I get one. As we approached the gates, a fellow prisoner, some dirty Nord in ragged clothing, started proclaiming his innocence; stupid bastard, I was just as innocent as he was in this. It seemed that all the other prisoners felt the same, as the blonde Nord across from me babbled on about "honorable death" and a quiet brown haired Breton to my right shook her head and released a sigh. I wondered how she got captured anyways..I didn't' remember seeing her at the skirmish…but where was I? Ah!

The gates were quickly opened and the carts of prisoners (about two more trailed behind ours) were ushered through. Citizens were traveling the town's main road in a throng, no doubt to witness the execution, and legion soldiers were mounted along the battlements, in some attempt to watch for any possible Stormcloak reinforcements. After the number the legion did on the Stormcloaks at the skirmish, I doubt there would be any. One of the soldiers on the battlements piqued my interest if I remembered right, a fellow Dunmer with crimson hair seemingly flowing out of his shaped leather helmet. Red hair like that is generally an oddity among us Dunmer, a trait derived from the Ashlander tribes that used to inhabit Vvardenfell before the Red Year. But back on subject….

The carts moved past the various homes of Helgen's residents and came to a stop at a large square dominate by a looming cobblestone tower. The executioner stood ready, axe in hand, and we were ushered out of the carts. There were a lot more prisoners than I thought at first, a quick count revealed nearly 20 in total, this event would provide a lot of time for an opportunity for escape to present itself. The supposedly "innocent" Nord immediately tried to make a break for it and was subsequently made into a pincushion by Legion issued arrows; stupid bastard, he should have waited.

Before the first name was called, a graying Imperial in golden armor presented something that would surely make my era; Ulfric Stormcloack, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion would be executed in a grand finale! If only I didn't have to escape, I would have loved to watch; but my thought process was interrupted by a deafening roar that seemed to emanate from the Arethius itself. The legionnares seemed phased, but still went through with the execution. The first name was called and some cheeky Stormcloak soldier walked up to the axeman spitting a stream of insults. I couldn't help but smile as I watched his head become separated from his neck. Time however was of the essence, I must make my escape, and soon. The Imperials appeared not to waste any time, and within a moment, Marise, apparently the name of the Breton prisoner from the cart ride earlier, was called.

Slowly Marise walked to the headsman, seemingly embracing her fate, hwne the roar struck the skies again, this time closer. A smile of grim satisfaction streaked across my face, it was time…

There was…something shooting through the skies. With two mighty flaps of the monster's leathery wings, a dragon (By Nocturnal YES! A DRAGON!), with scales as black as the void itself, landed upon the roof of the nearby tower.

With a mighty bellow, flames spouted from the dragons mouth, its searing tendrils licking the ground beneath. The dragon reared up again, and this time a voice, so deep that the ground itself shook, was expelled forth carrying a single word,

"Marise"

Interested as I was in the monster's interest in the quiet Breton girl, there was my escape to commence. I ran. The falling debris of Helgen's structures did little to phase my progress, I was a Mer determined. As figured, the legionaries were too distracted with the threat of the dragon to notice the escaping Dunmer rushing past them. On the horizon I caught a glimpse of the bastard Ulfric escorted by my fellow passenger from earlier, the blond Nord…I think he said his name was Ralof or something of the sort. As tempted as I was to run Ulfric through on the spot, I sadly was weaponless, and my hands were still bound. Screams pierced the air, but I felt no pity as I raced to my goal; freedom was in sight!

So, now you know the story of my daring escape; exciting, no? Luckily for me, the irons restraining my hands were rusty with age, and broke easily upon a nearby boulder. With the events at Helgen, I'm sure my bounty has been wiped clean (and by wiped clean I mean burnt into cinders by that monsters flames). From the distance I can barely make out a set of timber gates, no doubt my assumption proved correct, Riverwood is near.